


One More Miracle

by Winnywriter



Series: Miracle 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fallen Angels, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is the son of two dead parents, living with his brother as he approaches graduation from the University of Kansas. His life is nothing special, and meeting Gabe, the curious owner of a local bookstore, is certainly not about to change that...until it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to several people: 
> 
> To Meg and the Speight Cult on tumblr. Specifically all of those who chatted with me on Skype and encouraged me to keep writing.
> 
> To edgebug, andlatitude, and dreadelion on tumblr, whose art was a constant inspiration.
> 
> To by beta, spacemoonpancakes on tumblr.
> 
> Song credit: "Unthought Known" by Pearl Jam.

Sam had a crick in his neck and a pronounced hunch in his posture as he made his way down the deserted sidewalk, his tennis shoes scraping over the thick layer of autumn leaves on the concrete and Pearl Jam drifting smooth and mellow from his ear buds. He bobbed his head to the music, clearing a strand of long hair from his face before shoving his hands back into the pockets of his jeans to shield them from the autumn chill.

It was getting dark, and the sky was stained a dimming red as the sun sank past the trees and rooftops hiding the horizon. He frowned up at it, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders; the 18 credit hours' worth of textbooks inside weighed him down and bent his spine. If he could survive this semester without needing a chiropractor, it would be a miracle.  
  
“ _All the thoughts, you never see, you're always thinkin'_ ,” crooned the voice in his ear buds. “ _Brain is wide, brain is deep, oh are you sinkin'?_ ”  
  
A breeze blew by him and he drew himself further into his hoodie, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. Soon it would be time to dig out the thick gloves and scarves, and he'd have to find his heavy winter coat buried in the back of his closet. His mind wandered from the weather to C.S. Lewis and he found himself craving hot cocoa.  
  
The scuff of boots that were not his own drew his attention away from thoughts of witches and lions, and he glanced up only to frown deeply. Lucas cocked his head to one side as he approached, his swagger brash and lazy; he picked up his pace when he caught sight of Sam, approaching him with what seemed like excitement that was normally reserved for greeting a fond friend. Sam knew it was anything but.  
  
“Keeping warm there, Winchester?” he asked, stopping square in front of Sam and pushing his shoulders forward. Sam bit the inside of his cheek and fought the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“I'm in a hurry, Lucas,” he said. Lucas blocked his attempt to push past.  
  
“Whatcha listening to there anyway?”  
  
“I said I'm in a hurry. Will you-” Lucas still didn't let him pass, and Sam got an uneasy, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lucas' hair was ruffled, his jaw rough with stubble, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. White puffed from between his parted lips with every breath as he stared up at Sam, swaying back and forth, thumbs hooked in his pockets.  
  
Another pair of feet stepped up lazily behind him, and he stiffened.  
  
“Little too late, man,” said Lucas, addressing the figure behind Sam that he hadn't yet turned to look at. “Sam needs to get home.”  
  
“Aww,” crooned a nasally voice behind him: Al. “Need to get back to the missus?” Both voices burst into raucous laughter and Sam ground his teeth together, his heart suddenly pounding; whether it was from anger or anxiety, he couldn't say. All he knew was that it was dark, he was, for all intents and purposes, surrounded, and at some point his ear buds had fallen out, hanging down by his jaw and still humming though he could no longer make out the lyrics.  
  
“Don't let us keep you,” growled Al from behind.  
  
Sam wasn't sure if his relief was misplaced as the man behind him meandered around to join Lucas. Al was tall and skinny, scruffier even than Lucas, looking like he'd just crawled out of a crack den as he sneered at Sam.   
  
“Night, Sam,” hissed Lucas, and Sam didn't so much as nod, staying perfectly still as the two of them walked past, swaggering down the path in the opposite direction. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, rubbing his brow and pulling his ear buds from where they were hooked around his ears and turning his iPod off. He wrapped the cord around it and shoved it back in his pocket.  
  
Just as he did, a voice piped up from behind him: “Hey Winchester!” He knew – oh, he _knew_ – that he shouldn't turn around, but he did out of habit, and a jagged piece of gravel whizzed toward his head, bouncing off his temple. Al's disgustingly raspy laughter cut through the night air as Sam pressed a hand to his head. His palm came away bloody, and he cursed.

* * *

  
His forehead throbbed as he pushed open the first illuminated door he came to. A bell tinkled above him as he stepped inside, and the warmth that enveloped him was welcoming beyond belief. He looked up; it was a bookstore that he'd found himself in. Shelves lined the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling and holding all kinds of different titles. The counter by the door was plastered with posters and papers, covered with quotes from all sorts of different notable people:

 

_“I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”_

_-Jane Austen_

_“With affection beaming out of one eye, and calculation shining out of the other.”_

_-Charles Dickens_

_“Eternal nothingness is fine if you happen to be dressed for it.”_

_-Woody Allen_

_“What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?”_

_-John Green_

  
“You're bleeding all over my floor!”  
  
Sam realized all too quickly that he'd been zoning out, and his head spun as he whipped his gaze around toward the back of the store. A man emerged from around the corner of a bookshelf, his hair slicked back and his brow furrowed in irritation and worry. Sam glanced down at two red droplets of blood that had splattered against the floorboards beneath his feet and fumbled for words.  
  
“Yeah, I uh, s-sorry, I'll-” His syllables came out garbled and incoherent, and he heard the shorter man curse under his breath as he scurried over to him, placing a surprisingly firm hand on his arm.  
  
“Geez, what the hell happened to you?” he asked.  
  
“It's nothing,” Sam said. “I just need...look I'm sorry. Do you have a bathroom or something? I just want to clean up.” That couldn't possibly have been his voice, could it? It was far too rough and exhausted to belong to him.  
  
“Oh for the love of-” The man let his exclamation fall short. He grabbed a chair from behind the counter and dragged it around to the front, guiding Sam over to it. “Sit down here. I have a first aid kit.”  
  
“You don't have to-”  
  
“Just sit!” He pushed Sam back down when Sam tried to stand, and Sam sighed deeply as the man rummaged through his things behind the counter, finally letting out an exuberant, “Ah-hah! Bingo bango!” as he brought the slightly dusty box out and set it down beside Sam. He grabbed another chair and sat across from him.  
  
His touch was surprisingly tender as he took Sam's wrist and pulled his hand away from the wound. “Let me see that,” he said. Sam grimaced as he did. He could feel the man's breath on his cheek, and it made him restless. Luckily for him, at least the guy didn't have bad breath; he smelled spicy and slightly sweet, like he'd just eaten gingerbread.  
  
“Damn, did you get mugged or something? Do I need to call the cops?” His tone was only half-joking, but Sam found himself chuckling anyway.  
  
“No, nothing like that,” he said. “It's just...a couple of guys being dicks, that's all.”  
  
“Was it those assholes from earlier? The ones that looked like they were two seconds away from dragging you into a dark alley?” Sam's stomach dropped.  
  
“You saw that?”  
  
“I was this close to getting my shotgun.”  
  
“You have a _shotgun?_ ”  
  
The man just smiled cryptically before reaching down to take a cloth from the first aid kit, wiping some of the blood from Sam's skin. “Damn head wounds bleed like a bitch,” he commented. Sam blinked in agreement.  
  
“One of them threw something at me,” Sam admitted after a moment as the man pulled the cloth away. The bleeding already seemed to be stopping. “I don't think he even meant to hit me.”  
  
“Oh, well that makes it okay then.” He dabbed some iodine on the clean end of the cloth and brought it to Sam's forehead. “This is gonna sting-” He was only halfway through the warning when he pressed it against Sam's skin, and Sam winced as it burned, hissing through his teeth. “Ah, suck it up you big baby,” the man said, fighting back a grin as he spoke.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said awkwardly after a moment of trying to look anywhere but the man's uncomfortably close amber eyes. He reached for a name that wasn't within grasp. “Ah...”  
  
“Gabe,” the man finished, still dabbing at Sam's temple. “Call me Gabe.”  
  
“Gabe...” Sam repeated. He resolved to devote it to memory. “Thanks...”  
  
“Don't mention it,” Gabe said, pulling away and resting the kit in his lap as he balanced his chair on two legs. He started rummaging through it again, and Sam wondered what he was looking for now. He hoped it wasn't anything else that was going to sting.  
  
“So what do I call you?” Gabe asked as he searched.  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“You a student, Sam?”  
  
Sam glanced down at his heavy backpack lying on its side by the counter. “Yeah,” he said. “K.U.”  
  
“Go Jayhawks,” Gabe commented with a grin, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. He stared down at his hands.  
  
“Yeah...I'm graduating in spring.”  
  
Gabe's eyebrows arched impressively. “Congratulations. You know, a few months early, but still.”  
  
“Just a few,” Sam said with a half-hearted chuckle. Gabe pulled out a box of bandaids and took out one of the largest ones, pulling it out of the packaging and leaning forward again. Sam wanted to flinch away, to take it himself and remind the guy that he was perfectly capable of putting on his own bandaids, thank you very much, but Gabe's hands were steady and his touch was comforting and Sam found himself actually kind of liking his sweet and spicy scent. It reminded him of the seasonal pumpkin spice drinks at Starbucks that he so wished would stick around all year. The moment the thought crossed his mind, his face heated up.  
  
Gabe placed the bandage expertly and Sam reached up to feel it, the material rough against his fingertips.  
  
“This isn't Hello Kitty or Dora the Explorer or anything like that, is it?” Sam asked dubiously. Gabe leaned back and laughed.  
  
“Nah! I don't have any in that size.”  
  
“Damn,” Sam breathed sarcastically, and Gabe laughed again. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Gabe put away the bandaids and the iodine.  
  
“You live around here?” Gabe asked.  
  
“Not too far. Live with my brother a few blocks away.”  
  
“Brother, huh? Just you guys?”  
  
Sam coughed.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Just us.” He didn't say anything further, and Gabe didn't ask; he nodded slowly, taking the information in. “What about you?” Sam hazarded, eager to change the subject. “You from around here?”  
  
“Lived here a while,” Gabe said, leaning back in his chair. “Wasn't born here though.”  
  
“So where are you from?”  
  
“A long ways away.”  
  
Sam chuckled a bit, and when Gabe arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him, he said, “Come on, this isn't a passage from one of these books, you know. You don't have to be cryptic for the sake of character development.”  
  
“I'm not being cryptic.”  
  
“Then where are you from? Honestly.”  
  
Gabe shrugged. “Up north.”  
  
Sam hunched his shoulders, smiling sheepishly. “Alright...I get it if you don't want to tell me. I probably shouldn't pry into your private life-”  
  
“It's not that I don't want to talk about it. You just wouldn't believe me if I did.”  
  
Sam blinked and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Jesus, he thought to himself, this guy was weird.  
  
“You don't know that. What, are you gonna say you're from the North Pole or something? You a runaway Christmas elf?”  
  
“Hey! I'm not _that_ short, okay? I can't help it if you're some kind of overgrown, mutant...”  
  
“Moose?”  
  
Gabe looked thoughtful. “I was going to say sasquatch, but I think that might suit you better.”  
  
“Sasquatch, huh?” He allowed himself a small, quiet laugh. “That's a new one.” Sam stared down at his hands, taking the cloth when Gabe offered it to him and wiping off the blood from his palm.  
  
“Still sting?” Gabe asked softly a moment later, gesturing at his head.  
  
“Nothing I can't handle.”  
  
“Big guy like you...” Gabe leaned forward, clasping his hands on top of his knees. “I'm surprised you didn't send those morons to an early grave.”  
  
“Like I said, I don't even think Al meant to hit me at all. I know them. They're assholes, but they're harmless, mostly. Besides, they're not exactly worth it...”  
  
Gabe let out a soft laugh and smiled warmly. “Gentle moose, huh?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
The comfort with which they'd sunk into this conversation surprised Sam, striking him all at once. He barely knew this guy, and yet there was something about him that just made him want to sit here and talk to him. It was strange, and it caught him off guard, so he focused on scrubbing the blood off of his fingers and grimaced when it didn't come off easy.  
  
Sam nearly dropped the cloth - hell, he almost toppled backward in his chair - when Gabe spoke again: “So who outed you?”  
  
“Wh-what?” he sputtered. Gabe shrugged again.  
  
“Was it a personal choice or did someone make the decision for you?”  
  
“You...” he trailed off, staring at Gabe. The guy looked as if he'd just asked about the weather and nothing more: patiently expectant without a hint of anxiety or judgment. “I...” Sam looked away and cleared his throat. “I've never exactly kept it a secret. Not since high school.”  
  
Gabe nodded in understanding.  
  
“How did you...”  
  
“How did I know?” Gabe finished. His face was completely expressionless as he said, “I've been spying on you from your yard for the past six months.”  
  
The laugh that burst from Sam's throat surprised him and made Gabe grin hugely.  
  
“Well damn,” Sam said through his smile. “I must be really out of it, then.”  
  
Gabe chuckled fondly, comfortably, and rested his cheek against his palm. “Way I see it, guys like that find very specific reasons to harass people. You're a big guy, Sam. Tall, handsome...and not really the kind of guy that looks like he'd get shoved into lockers. Course, appearances can be deceiving and all that, but considering how much bullying is thanks to homophobic idiots and considering we live in a state that voted Romney in the last election, I took a wild guess.”  
  
Sam ran his fingertips back and forth across the surface of the bandage on his temple as he listened before blinking a few times. “Huh...” he breathed.  
  
They didn't say anything more about it, and Sam found himself feeling almost thankful for that fact, that Gabe wasn't treating it as any big deal, no more important than his zodiac sign. Sam might as well have told him that he was a Taurus.  
  
A few minutes of easy conversation later, Sam gathered his things and headed for the door as Gabe leaned against the counter and watched him go. “Thanks again,” Sam said, looking back at him with one hand on the doorknob.   
  
“Don't mention it,” Gabe assured him. Sam glanced around the store, something holding him back from stepping into the cold again. Maybe it was the welcome embrace of the central heat, or a prodding sense of curiosity about the shop and its owner, or maybe it was something else entirely. He didn't try and dissect it at that very moment, but he did hang back.  
  
“How long has this place been here anyway?” he asked.  
  
Gabe shrugged. “I've been here a while. Never exactly been a hotspot, but I've done alright. Why?”  
  
“It's just...I've lived in Lawrence all my life, and I've never even noticed this place.”  
  
“You and ninety-nine percent of the population, kiddo,” Gabe said with a sigh. There was real concern in his voice as he added, “You gonna get home okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I'll be fine. Unless...”  
  
“Unless?”  
  
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “Unless you'd let me borrow your shotgun?”  
  
Gabe laughed again, crossing his arms and throwing his head back, and Sam smiled at the sound.  
  
“I don't send college kids home with firearms,” he said. “Company policy. That, and no returns without the receipt.”  
  
Sam smiled as he pushed the door open, the bell tinkling merrily above his head. “Thanks, Gabe.”  
  
“Stay safe out there, Sam.”

* * *

  
Dean was asleep on the couch by the time Sam got back to the apartment, and for that, Sam was grateful. He slunk through the door, reaching over to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn off the TV before retreating to his own room, but just as he shut off a muted commercial for Viagra, Dean abruptly stopped snoring.  
  
“I was watching that,” Dean grumbled as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.  
  
Sam scoffed. “Watching an infomercial about erectile dysfunction? Something you want to talk about, Dean?” Dean hit him on the shoulder as he stood up, heading to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the sink and filling it with water from the tap. Sam shifted his backpack from one shoulder to the other as he tried to head for his room, but Dean was far too observant, even when exhausted.  
  
“Hold up,” he called, and Sam fought back a sigh. “What happened to your head?”  
  
“t's not anything major,” Sam said, reaching up to touch the bandaid as if he'd forgotten about it. “Just tripped is all.”  
  
“Tripped? That's really what you're going with?” Dean deadpanned, chugging back the glassful of water and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.  
  
“Uh...yes?”  
  
“You're a shitty liar.”  
  
“It's really nothing, Dean.”  
  
“Dude-” Dean put the cup down on the kitchen counter and gestured at himself. “Older brother. Supposed to be the protective one, remember?”  
  
Sam hoisted his backpack up on his shoulder and opened the door to his room, tossing it onto the floor by his bed. “Yeah, I know Dean,” he said. He stood with his back to his brother for a good long time before letting out a magnificent sigh. “Look, it was just...” He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly feeling tired beyond belief. “It was just Lucas and Al being dicks, okay? Nothing major.”  
  
“What, those assholes again?” Dean spat. “Jesus, Sam. When are you gonna give those guys what they deserve? I know you could take them.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “If they give me a reason to, I will.”  
  
“Yeah, well I'd call _that_ -” He pointed at the covered wound on Sam's temple. “-enough of a reason for me.”  
  
“Dean...”  
  
Dean threw his hands up. “Like I said. Older brother. Protective instinct.”  
  
“Look, it's fine, okay? It's really fine.” He walked over to the couch and collapsed on it, sinking into the worn cushions and letting out a breath. “I'd tell you if it weren't.”  
  
“Yeah, fine. Okay.” Dean seemed anything but willing to let it drop, and he fumed all the way to the kitchen, where he put the used glass back in the sink. He sank down on the couch again, beside Sam, and turned the TV back on, flipping through the channels until he finally settled on Animal Planet's _The Most Extreme_.  
  
“Hey, you ever been in this little bookstore down the road?” Sam asked when the show cut to commercial a few minutes later. Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “It's like this little independent place a few blocks down.”  
  
“No. Why?”  
  
Sam rubbed his hands against his jeans. “I just...I stopped in there after all this...stuff happened. Guy there patched me up.”  
  
As infuriating as it was, as his mind wandered back to Gabe, he felt himself start to blush, and he looked pointedly out the window. Dean leaned forward, eyebrow arching even higher.  
  
“Guy?” he repeated. God, Sam could _hear_ him smirk.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam affirmed. “Guy.”  
  
Dean said nothing, but when Sam glanced at him he found he'd been right about the smirk.  
  
“It's not...It's nothing important or anything. I don't even know why I brought it up.”  
  
“You're blushing.”  
  
“I'm not blushing!”  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
Sam did. Dean's expression shattered into an unbelievably exuberant smile.  
  
“Awww, Sammy's got a crush!” he teased. Sam stood up from the couch and stalked away, toward his room, as Dean called after him, “Hey, come back! I'm being supportive!”  
  
“Shut up!” Sam said, fighting down a smile despite himself, and as he shut the door behind him, he heard Dean laughing.  
  
It was a few minutes later when Dean knocked on his bedroom door and announced that he was ordering pizza for dinner. “What do you want, Sammy?” he asked as he opened the door and peeked inside, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You know, besides sausage.”  
  
Sam threw a book at him.  
  
“Bitch!” Dean cried as he dodged it.  
  
Sam was quick to shout back, “Jerk!”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had a surprisingly difficult time finding the shop again the next day. His first class began at two o'clock, and he'd left the apartment early to give himself time to stop by again beforehand. Dean had left for work several hours before him, but Sam could still practically hear his brother's voice teasing him in his head in lieu of the real thing. He shook it off; he wasn't just going back to the store to see Gabe again, he told himself. This time, it was strictly business.  
  
The shop didn't stand out, and he found himself wondering – as ludicrous as it was – if it had all been a strange figment of his imagination. A quick brush of his fingers against the bandaid on his temple told him otherwise, and he continued down the street until he finally found it: a nondescript brick building nestled between an antique store and a small deli. Strangely enough, he couldn't find any storefront sign, but the books displayed in the window and the sign on the door that proudly proclaimed "We are open!" assured him that it was indeed the right place. A flight of iron steps curled around the side of the bookshop, leading to a second level tucked away above it. Sam wondered what he'd find up there, but it was a question for another day.  
  
The bell tinkled familiarly as he pushed the door open and glanced around at the bookshelves that lined the walls. The store looked different somehow, in the light of day, illuminated by the natural glow of the sun as well as the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. He wasn't alone now, either; two other patrons stood nearby: a woman with long brown hair tucked into the back of her jacket thumbed through a hardcover illustrated copy of _Moby Dick_ , and an older man leaning on a cane studied what looked to be _Gray's Anatomy_. They looked up briefly and glanced at him when he entered, but paid no mind beyond that.  
  
Gabe was nowhere to be found, but as Sam wandered further into the store, a doorway half-obscured by a thick purple curtain caught his eye in the back. There was nothing to suggest that it was restricted or off limits, so he pushed the curtain back and peeked inside.  
  
It was a small room, separate from the rest of the store, no bigger than a small college dorm room. There were no windows, and lining the walls were more bookshelves – no surprises there, he supposed. Closer inspection revealed, however, that the books here were older, their pages stained and frayed, their spines and covers damaged in places. And up on a step-stool back in the corner, organizing several ancient-looking copies of Jane Austen novels into alphabetical order with a look of absolute concentration on his face, was Gabe.  
  
He turned just as he placed a lone copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ on the shelf and grinned around the lollipop stick that protruded from between his lips.  
  
“Well look who's back!” he exclaimed. Sam smiled.  
  
“Yeah, I...” His words left him in one magnificent sweep, and he gestured instead at the bookshelf. “Austin?”  
  
“You a fan?”  
  
“Not really,” Sam admitted with a shake of his head. “Saw _Pride and Prejudice_ on PBS once, but that's about it.”  
  
“How do you get through school without reading any Austin?” Gabe scoffed, looking as if he were personally offended by the very idea.  
  
“Guess you've probably read all of them, huh?”  
  
Gabe hopped down from the step-stool. “What makes you say that?” he asked as he stooped down to pick up an empty cardboard box from the floor.  
  
“I just figured, since you work here...”  
  
“Well, don't get me wrong, I love reading about as much as anything else.” As he spoke, Gabe carried the box out into the main room of the store, and Sam followed. “Just personally always found those period romance novels a little dry.” He looked over the woman's shoulder; she was still looking through the copy of _Moby Dick_ in her hands. “ _Moby Dick_ is a good one though.”  
  
“ _Moby Dick_ 's not a romance novel,” Sam said with a crooked smile. Gabe arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Maybe not, but it's practically dripping with homoerotic tension. I mean, just look at the name.” The woman thumbing through the book looked up suddenly, her face reddening ever so slightly as she shot a scandalized look over at Gabe. “Just trust me on this one,” he said to her. “It's a great read, though. You know, if you skip the chapter about whale classification. That's what Wikipedia is for.”  
  
The woman closed the book, but didn't put it back on the shelf.  
  
As Gabe ducked behind the counter and kicked the box against the wall, Sam glanced over and noticed several more boxes near it, most of them full of books. “Got a shipment in the other day,” Gabe said when he noticed Sam looking. “Haven't gotten around to shelving them quite yet.” He stretched his back before leaning on the counter, looking expectantly up at Sam.  
  
“So what can I do you for, Sam? How's that head of yours doing?”  
  
Sam reached up to brush his fingers against the bandaid on his temple, breathing out a soft laugh. “Oh, it's fine,” he said. “Don't really notice it anymore.” He noticed Gabe still twisting and stretching his back, grimacing in discomfort. “You okay?”  
  
“Those damn boxes are heavy,” Gabe said offhandedly.  
  
“Did you want a hand?” Sam found himself asking. Gabe's arched his eyebrows at him.  
  
“Nah,” he answered with a grin. “Nothing you need to worry about.”  
  
“Excuse me.” The small, shy voice belonged to the woman from earlier, and Sam moved aside so she could place her books on the counter. Among them was _Moby Dick_.  
  
“Taking me word for it, huh?” Gabe asked exuberantly. “You won't be disappointed. It's a page-turner.”  
  
“Call me Ishmael,” Sam mumbled, and the woman looked up.  
  
“What was that?” she asked.  
  
“Oh, it's ah...” He scratched the back of his neck. “It's the first line of the book. The narrator, his name is...well, nevermind. You'll figure it out I guess.” He chuckled awkwardly and the woman smiled at him as Gabe rang up her books.  
  
“Enjoy,” Gabe said as he handed the woman her receipt with a flare of his wrist. When she'd gone, he looked back up at Sam. “So you are a literature fan, Mr. Never-Read-Austin.”  
  
“I took a class on Melville in high school,” Sam said. “I thought I was going to hate it, but it actually wasn't bad.” He glanced at Gabe, waiting for him to say something to carry on the conversation, but Gabe just stared up at him, leaning over the counter, one eyebrow lazily cocked as he worked the lollipop in his mouth from one cheek to the other.  
  
“So...the books in the back,” Sam continued after a moment. “That some sort of employees-only section or something?” Gabe straightened up and took the lollipop from his mouth with a loud pop.  
  
“Nothing like that,” he said. “See, not everyone has disposable income to spend on stuff like books these days, especially with so many college students and recent graduates wandering around the area.” As he spoke, he meandered out from behind the counter, leaning back against it as he faced Sam, lazily waving the lollipop in front of him. “So if people have old books they don't need, they can come trade them in, pick out something else.”  
  
“Huh...” Sam breathed.  
  
“Only problem is, a lot of the time, they haven't exactly been treated well. I mean, I've got some pretty rare stuff back there. Things that people have dug out of their grandparents' attics, first editions and all that. But they're not as popular as you'd think.” He shrugged. “Occasionally I'll get a collector or something that comes in and buys out a whole boxload of them, but more often than not they just get ignored. People don't really pay attention to tattered old books like that, you know?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. Gabe straightened up and grinned again.  
  
“Let me tell you, you have no idea how many Bibles I've got back there, though. I bet the Pope would be jealous!” Sam laughed more loudly than he'd expected, and it seemed to bring Gabe no small amount of satisfaction. Gabe popped the lollipop back into his mouth, reached down and hauled up one of the smaller boxes from behind the counter. He looked through it before carrying it to one of the shelves by the front door and started to rearrange the inventory there to make room.  
  
“You headed to class or from?” he asked, glancing at Sam's backpack that he had slung over one shoulder.  
  
“To. Later,” Sam said, and suddenly recollection poked at the back of his brain. “Actually, I did want to ask you something.” Gabe hummed in acknowledgment as he continued to shelve. “I transferred into this literature class I need to graduate, and I haven't gotten any of the books for it yet.”  
  
Gabe turned slowly, arching his eyebrows. “So what makes you think you can find your books here?” he joked wryly.  
  
Sam glanced up and down the shelves of books before answering, “Just a gut feeling.” Gabe looked thoughtful for a moment before breaking into a grin. He took the lollipop out again and waved it at Sam.  
  
“I think I can help you,” he said, pushing the box against the wall and out of the way. “What are you looking for?” Sam glanced up at the rafters and wracked his brain, counting on his fingers as he tried to picture the syllabus in his mind.  
  
“ _A Streetcar Named Desire_ ,” he said. “ _As I Lay Dying_ , and _The Awakening_.” Gabe nodded along as Sam talked, humming thoughtfully to himself as he made his way over to a shelf near the back and scanned over it. He made his way from shelf to shelf, picking out the books one by one until he had all three stacked in his arms. He plunked them down on the counter, and Sam raised his eyebrows, impressed.  
  
“That was quick,” he said.  
  
“I am pretty familiar with the place, you know,” Gabe replied, leaning on the counter again and crunching the lollipop between his teeth.  
  
“Well thanks. How much do I-”  
  
Gabe pushed the books toward him. “Take 'em,” he said.  
  
Sam stared, his hand halfway into his pocket to grab his wallet. He sputtered. “I can't just-”  
  
“Let me finish,” Gabe said, holding up a finger to stop him. “Take them. And then sometime in the next few days – let's say tomorrow, if you can – you come and help me shelve the last of these books.” He nodded toward the four boxes remaining behind the counter. “It'll sure save me a lot of trouble and a few painkillers, and we'll call it even.” He extended a hand. “What do you say, sasquatch?”  
  
Sam stared a moment before smiling, reaching out to take Gabe's hand and shaking it firmly.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” he said.

* * *

  
On Thursdays, Sam rose early to make it to his nine o'clock lecture and usually stayed on campus until late. When his alarm clock went off at seven-thirty, he shut it off and sat up in bed, bleary-eyed and groggy, throwing off the covers and shuddering at the morning chill. The first thing he did was shuffle over to his laptop and yawn as he checked his email.  
  
There were six university-wide emails in his inbox, inviting him to come to fraternity events or roommate mixers. He deleted them, along with a few spam messages that had made it past his filter. The last email was from his professor, and lo and behold, his morning lecture had been canceled. A warm feeling settled in the pit of Sam's stomach that told him today would be a good day.  
  
He started it off by going back to bed.  
  
He awoke three hours later feeling rested and eager to get up. He stood, stretched, and dressed before heading out to the kitchen to quell the growling in his stomach with a good breakfast.  
  
The sausage was just starting to sizzle in the frying pan when Dean made his appearance, his hair a mess and his t-shirt so deeply wrinkled that Sam doubted all the irons in the world could smooth it out. Dean paused, stared at Sam as though he thought he was hallucinating or dreaming, and cocked his head to one side.  
  
“Don't you have class?” he asked sleepily.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Canceled,” he said. “Figured I'd sleep in.”  
  
“Lucky duck,” Dean mumbled, and he grabbed a carton of orange juice form the fridge and chugged a healthy portion of it back. Sam grimaced and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, shoving it at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes, but relented, pouring the juice into the glass and sipping at it heartily.  
  
He leaned back against the counter. “So you been back to that book store?” he asked. If he was trying to sound casual, he was doing an awful job of it. Sam had to fight valiantly not to roll his eyes, distracting himself by flipping the sausages over in the pan.  
  
“Yesterday, actually,” he said with a nod. Dean nodded right back.  
  
“For the books or the company?”  
  
This time, Sam did roll his eyes, and he groaned, “Dean...”  
  
“What? I'm just asking!” He stood close behind Sam, patting him hard on the shoulder. “C'mon, this could be good for you! You know, you could use a little-”  
  
“Don't finish that sentence,” Sam commanded.  
  
“Companionship. I was gonna say companionship.”  
  
“I bet you were.” Despite himself, Sam did let out a small, breathy laugh. “And for your information, I went to get some books for my literature class.”  
  
“What class?”  
  
“American literature, Dean. I need it to graduate.” Sam turned off the stove and transferred the sausages onto a plate. “Can you get the toaster?” Dean shuffled over to the toaster and turned it on.  
  
“What kind of books anyway?”  
  
“Usual stuff. O'Connor, Faulkner...” He shrugged. “Actually, I didn't have to pay anything for them.” Dean's eyebrows arched up in surprise.  
  
“What, you got them for free? Geez, what's with this guy?”  
  
“Well not free,” Sam said. “I'm helping him out with some inventory stuff tonight.”  
  
“Inventory stuff?” Dean jibed. Sam shot him a look that he knew Dean lovingly liked to refer to as “bitchface number three.”  
  
“Shelving books, Dean. I'm helping him shelve books.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Dean relented, opening the fridge and getting out the butter to place it on the kitchen table. “Look, I'll quit bugging you about it, okay?”  
  
“No you won't,” Sam challenged.  
  
After a moment, Dean said, “Yeah, you're right.”  
  
Sam tried not to smile. He really did.  
  
“Hey, I'm your big brother. I'm supposed to make fun of you.”  
  
Sam was silent for a long time, getting some strawberries out of the fridge and rinsing them before taking the toast from the toaster just as it finished cooking. He put everything on the table and sat down across from Dean.  
  
“I don't even think it...” He busied himself by pulling the leaves off of the top of a strawberry. Dean watched him expectantly, scraping sausage onto his plate and grabbing a piece of toast. “I don't even know if it's a...thing, you know? I mean...god, this sounds so stupid, but I feel like there's something there. What do I know, though? I suck at relationships anyway. Always have.”  
  
“Yeah, you do,” Dean agreed, chewing around his words. Sam huffed.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Nah, it's true. Lots of people suck at them though. God knows I do. But I mean, if you...like him or whatever, ask him out. That's what normal people do, right?”  
  
“I've known him two days!”  
  
“So? It's a date, not a marriage proposal. Or whatever it is people do until that's legal in Kansas.” Sam was silent, and Dean leaned forward. “I mean, come on...You haven't even had a serious relationship with anyone since Jess, and we both know how that ended.”  
  
“I was sixteen, Dean,” Sam reminded him.   
  
“Yeah, you were sixteen. But that's my point! I mean, why not take a chance, Sammy? Go for it already.”  
  
“Dean...” Sam sighed. “I don't even know if he's...you know...open to it.”  
  
“Yeah, well I'm not gonna sit here and try and convince you, alright?” He bit off a chunk of buttered toast and chewed loudly. “But you're not gonna know unless you try.”  
  
“Didn’t know you’d been moonlighting as a motivational poster writer.”  
  
Dean flicked his bread crust at him.  
  
When they finished breakfast, Dean put the plates in the sink and ran some water over them – which was about the extent to which Dean washed dishes until they were piled up nearly to ceiling – and went to get dressed.  
  
“I got an extra shift tonight at McLeon's, late,” he called from his bedroom. “Probably leave around the same time you do. Won't be back till around one.”  
  
“Got it,” Sam said with a nod.  
  
Dean stepped out of his room in a fresh t-shirt and jeans. “You good for dinner?”  
  
“I'm not six, Dean,” Sam said with a half-forced smirk. “I can cook my own spaghetti-O's.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He thrust his index finger at Sam enthusiastically. “Hey, maybe you don't have to eat alone, you know?”  
  
“Mhm.” His mumbled response was the only one Sam gave as he took the bowl containing the last few strawberries to his room. He left them untouched as he sat down with his new copy of _A Streetcar Named Desire_ and began to read.

* * *

  
The temperature had dipped significantly, and it was almost unseasonably cold for October as Sam made his way down the street to the bookstore. It was dark and cloudy, and he shivered with every step, wishing that he'd broken out the winter coat early after all. It was nearly eight; his homework had taken him longer than he'd anticipated and he'd had to hunker down in the library for a few extra hours. He hoped it wasn't too late for him to drop in on Gabe.  
  
As luck would have it, the light was on in the store; Sam could see it from a block away. Funny, he thought, how it was somehow easier for him to find the shop in the dark, like a beacon in the night. He found himself smiling at the thought.  
  
His smile dropped as he approached the store and saw Lucas walking up toward him in the opposite direction.  
  
He tried not to make eye contact, but it was already too late, and he settled for breaking off his gaze and ducking into the bookstore, the familiar tinkling of the bell overhead comforting in a strange sort of way.  
  
The store was empty, save for Gabe, who was leaning back in his chair behind the desk, a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose as he thumbed his way through a book. When Sam squinted, he could make out the title: _Moby Dick_.  
  
Gabe looked up at the sound of the bell. “Evening, kiddo!” he exclaimed, closing the book and removing his glasses. He placed them on the counter and stood.  
  
“I'm here to work off my debt,” Sam said with a grin, taking off his backpack and rubbing his hands to get them warmed up again. Gabe pouted.  
  
“Oh, and here I thought you were just here to see me.”  
  
Sam did his best not to blush. It didn't work.  
  
“That's a bonus,” he said, before he could stop himself, and he felt like shoving his foot in his mouth. Gabe, however, laughed exuberantly.  
  
“Good to know it's not a punishment, at least,” he chuckled, and he gestured for Sam to come over to the counter. “There are three boxes left. Shouldn't take you too long. All labeled so you know which sections they go in. Other than that, just stick 'em where there's room.”  
  
Sam was just nodding when the bell above the door chimed again. Both of them looked up, and Sam's stomach dropped.  
  
Lucas strode inside, wrinkling his nose as if something about the place offended him, and Sam could feel even Gabe bristle. He wondered if Gabe recognized him from a few nights prior. Sam's hand twitched as the urge shot through it to reach up and feel the bandage on his temple, like it remembered that night too.  
  
“Hey there Sam,” Lucas greeted. “How's it hangin'?”  
  
“What do you want, Lucas?” Sam asked bitterly.  
  
Lucas shrugged. “It's a book store, isn't it? I like a good book. And you've sure been frequenting it the past few days.” Lucas cocked his head to one side, a gesture that made anger flare in Sam’s gut.  
  
“We're closing, actually,” Gabe piped up, and Sam turned to look at him. Gabe's face was nothing like he'd ever seen it; it was harsh and dark, almost as if it were made of hot stone, and he was glaring at Lucas with a power that made Sam shiver again, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold.  
  
Lucas shifted, and Sam wasn't sure if it was because he was uncomfortable under Gabe's harsh gaze or because he was gathering his thoughts for a snappy comeback. Maybe it was both. Sam had to admit, the idea that Lucas was shaken at all gave him a sick sense of satisfaction.  
  
“Shame,” Lucas said. “I needed something new to read.”  
  
“Gonna have to try somewhere else,” replied Gabe.  
  
“Maybe I'll just come back later.” Something about Lucas' words made Sam slightly nauseous, and Gabe's jaw tightened. Still, he didn't move. Lucas looked over at Sam, saying, “Night, Sam” before turning and leaving again.  
  
Only when Lucas disappeared around the corner did Gabe let out a breath.  
  
“I don't like him,” he said, rubbing his temples.  
  
“Not gonna argue with you there,” Sam sighed. Something still sat uneasily with him. “You don't think he's...I mean it sounded like he...”  
  
“What, like he was threatening me?” Gabe scoffed. “He’s all talk. Besides, it’s nothing I can't handle, kiddo. Shotgun, remember?”  
  
Sam, despite everything, smiled a bit at that.  
  
“Do you _really_ have a shotgun?” he asked. Gabe didn't answer, but cocked one eyebrow and hauled up one of the boxes, setting it on the counter.

* * *

  
“So you're a student,” Gabe said casually. “What are you studying?” He propped his feet up on the counter and eyed Sam intently while he waited for an answer. Sam tucked the last few books from the box he was working on between the others on the shelf.  
  
“Engineering,” he said. He went to get another box.  
  
Gabe grimaced half-jokingly. “More than I could ever stomach, but I commend your bravery.”  
  
Sam laughed lightly and hoisted the second box up into his arms. The label read “Historical Non-fiction,” so he carried it over to that section and set it down to start shelving.  
  
He worked silently for several minutes before he said, “Actually, if I can be honest...originally, I...” He trailed off, his words morphing into a melancholy laugh.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It's kind of dumb.”  
  
“Well now I definitely want to know.”  
  
Sam smiled over at Gabe before looking back down at the book in his hand and continuing: “Don't get me wrong, I like engineering. It's interesting. It's fine, but I...I always kind of wanted to get a writing degree.”  
  
“Writing?” Gabe repeated, suddenly looking interested. He took his feet down off of the counter and hunched forward in his chair, leaning toward Sam. “You serious? Writing what?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “News columns, I guess. Articles, editorials...maybe publish a novel or some...poetry.” He tucked the book away on the shelf, feeling Gabe staring; he tried not to squirm under his gaze.  
  
“Please tell me you're secretly a poet, Sam,” Gabe finally said. “That's the most damn romantic thing I've ever heard.”  
  
Sam nearly dropped the book in his hand.  
  
“Romantic?” he stuttered.  
  
“Hey, I run a bookstore, remember? I'm a romantic by default.”  
  
Sam chuckled to himself until the redness in his face faded away.  
  
“I haven't really written anything for a while. Not since high school. But you never know.”  
  
Gabe leaned back in his chair. “Yeah,” he said. “You never know.” After a beat, he added. “So why the switch to engineering?”  
  
“Just more useful, I guess. If I'm lucky enough to go to school on scholarship, I may as well do something to make it count, you know?”  
  
“Scholarship, huh?” Gabe asked with a crooked smile, and he whistled. “I figured you were a smart cookie, sasquatch. But who says writing wouldn't count?”  
  
“Well I just have to be realistic, you know? It's just me and my brother, and he already supports me while I'm in school anyway. I mean, I offered to get a job too, work part-time. But Dean wouldn't have it. He told me to focus on studying and let him worry about putting bread on the table. But I can't be a reclusive starving artist type after I graduate while he busts his ass tending a bar downtown to keep us fed.” As he spoke, he studied the binding of the book in his grasp.   
  
The silence dragged on forever.  
  
“That's noble of you, Sam,” Gabe said, and his voice was sincere. Sam glanced over at him, searching for some trace of sarcasm, but he found none. “It really is.”  
  
“Thanks.” He shoved the book onto the shelf. “It's just...when our dad died, it...it hit him hard, you know? And I...” Emotion welled in his chest, and it hurt. He pushed it back, letting out a breath. “Sorry, I don't...I don't really want to talk about that.”  
  
“S'okay,” was all Gabe said.  
  
Sam concentrated on the books, hearing a shuffling sound just outside his line of sight. A moment later, Gabe was beside him, practically appearing out of nowhere and handing him a lollipop. Sam stared at it. Gabe said nothing, but quirked an eyebrow expectantly.  
  
Sam finally smiled and took it, unwrapping the candy and popping it into his mouth. By the time he finished shelving the books, it was nothing but a paper stick dissolving into mush on his tongue, and his mood had lifted considerably.


	3. Chapter 3

“What's your family like?”  
  
Sam wasn't sure where the question came from, and if there had been anyone else in the store besides just him and Gabe, he probably would have convinced himself that someone else had asked it instead. Gabe looked up at him from his inventory books, blinking back the initial flash of surprise that had flitted its way across his features.  
  
“My family?” he asked.  
  
Sam shifted uncomfortably and averted his gaze, running his hand along the spines of some of the books on the shelf beside him. Sure, his curiosity had been bubbling in the back of his mind for a few days, but his own question had taken him by surprise. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean...do you have any siblings or...”  
  
Gabe sighed, though it was more a thoughtful gesture than one of exhaustion or displeasure, and he took off his reading glasses. “I’ve got a lot of siblings, yeah. Haven't seen them in a long time, though.” He chewed his lip.  
  
Sam looked over at him, something in Gabe's tone betraying the fact that saying that was more than a little emotionally trying. He wasn't prepared, however, for the look of such deep sadness that he saw on Gabe's features. It made him look at least ten years older, and Sam's heart ached.  
  
It lasted just a fraction of a moment, because the bell over the door chimed, and two young girls walked in, looking around the store excitedly. “You're still open, right?” one of them asked Gabe, and he put on his best polite smile, all trace of emotional weight gone from his face.  
  
“Yes ma'am,” he said.  
  
As they giggled their way into the store, one turned to the other and said, “See, I told you they were open on Sundays!” They made their way toward the shelves in the back of the store, and when they'd passed, Gabe visibly deflated, as though the show of making himself look less tired than he really was made him even more exhausted. His expression wasn't anywhere near as sullen as it had been before, however, and Sam wasn't quite sure if that should have been a relief or a reason to worry.  
  
“Sorry,” he said softly, out of earshot of the other two patrons. “I didn't mean...”  
  
“Nah, don't worry about it,” Gabe assured him, waving a hand. “Look, everybody has stuff in their past they don't like to remember. It's nothing you need to feel bad about.”  
  
Sam sighed. “I guess. I mean, I can kinda relate."  
  
It had been two weeks, and Sam had made a point to come into the shop nearly every day. He had to admit he did enjoy Gabe's company, and talking to him left him in a much better mood than did holing up in his room and studying the afternoon away. Dean, of course, teased him about it, but Sam didn't let it bother him. After all, it was just Dean being Dean, and well...there wasn't much he could do to change that.  
  
He was just reading over the back cover of one of the _Hunger Games_ novels, only half-reading the words, when he suddenly became aware of someone sidling up next to him. He glanced down; it was one of the girls who had come in a minute before, and she was pretending – badly – to study the books on the shelf next to him.  
  
“Hi,” she said with a million-dollar smile.  
  
He forced a smile of his own. “Hi.”  
  
“Do you like _The Hunger Games_?”  
  
He looked down at the book in his hand for a moment before putting it back on the shelf with an awkward half-laugh. “Not...not really. I'm just kind of, you know...browsing.”  
  
“You should read it. It's amazing.”  
  
“I've heard good things, yeah.”  
  
He looked back toward the counter. Gabe was snickering at him, but hiding it well. Sam tried to shoot him a glare.  
  
“I'm Karen,” the girl said. She turned her attention to Sam's sweatshirt. “Do you go to K.U.?”  
  
He nodded. “Yep.”  
  
“I'm applying there for next year. It's my top choice.”  
  
“That's great,” Sam said. “Good luck.” Karen tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “So are you...looking for anything or are you just...”  
  
“I'm just browsing too,” Karen said. Sam wasn't sure what to do with himself, uncomfortable under Karen's gaze. She was looking at him so intently, like she was just waiting for him to say something – anything. Gabe's barely concealed giggling didn't help.  
  
“I didn't get your name,” Karen continued.  
  
“Sam,” he replied stiffly. “I'm Sam.”  
  
“Do you come here a lot?”  
  
Gabe snorted loudly.  
  
Karen and Sam both turned to look at him. Sam glared, and Karen looked puzzled. Gabe tried valiantly – and horribly – to turn it into a cough.  
  
“Kind of,” Sam said, still glaring daggers at Gabe as he spoke.  
  
“Well, maybe I'll see you around sometime,” Karen offered. Sam barely heard her.  
  
“Maybe,” he said, without really giving the words much thought. He was pretty sure she looked mildly disappointed as she and her friend left, but he didn't pay it much mind.  
  
The minute the two of them were out the door, Gabe dissolved in giggles once more. “Not really great with the ladies, are you, Sam?” he asked, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye.  
  
“Shut up. You know it's not exactly my thing.”  
  
Gabe sauntered out from behind the counter. “Well between you and me, you've got a face that could solve world hunger. She was giving you googoo eyes from the get-go.”  
  
Sam flushed at the comment. “I don't know about that.”  
  
“It's true. And yet you still somehow manage to be as awkward as a thirteen-year-old at his first school dance.” Sam tried to glare, but found he was having trouble doing so without smiling. Gabe hoisted himself up onto the counter and regarded him playfully. “For a guy who looks like he'd be the world's greatest lady-killer, you sure are lucky you don't have to worry about picking up girls.”  
  
Sam studied the spine of the book in his hands. “I had a girlfriend once,” he muttered.  
  
Gabe's eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”  
  
“In high school. You know, before I'd...figured  a lot of stuff out.”  
  
“Was she pre-ehtty?” he asked cutely, smiling.  
  
“Yeah, she was beautiful.” Sam put the book back and leaned against the shelf. “I mean, we weren't together for long, but she...she helped me through a lot, you know? Even after we broke up, we stayed friends.” Sam rubbed at his temple. “Her name was Jess. I liked her, I really did. Loved her even, but not..."

"Not the way she wanted?" Gabe offered.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Something was always missing, and after I figured out what that was, I thought she was going to be pissed, but she wasn't. She was great about it. Stuck with me through everything."

"Where is she now?"

"She went off to art school in Vermont," Sam said with a shrug, fingers trailing over the spines of the books on the shelves. "We stayed in touch for a while, but we haven't talked in almost a year now. Still, I owe her practically everything. Honestly, without her, I don't know if I'd have been able to get through my dad's death...” He trailed off, voice catching in his throat, and he stared over Gabe's head at the opposite wall. But when he looked back at Gabe, he saw that all humor was gone from his face, and he was gazing at Sam intently, hunched over, his fingers intertwined in his lap.

Sam powered through the deep ache in his chest and carried on talking: “He was...he was a good guy, you know? My dad...I mean, he made mistakes, but everyone does. And he...” He stopped, having to swallow back a lump in his throat, and Gabe hopped off the counter and headed for the door.  
  
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.  
  
“Closing,” Gabe said.  
  
“It's barely four.”  
  
“It's a Sunday. And it's my store, so I can close it any time I damn well please.” He flipped the sign in the window and locked the door before grabbing the chair from behind the counter and dragging it out front, inviting Sam to sit. He did, and Gabe took another chair from the back corner and sat opposite Sam, much like they had been the first night they'd met. Gabe didn't say anything, but sat in silence, waiting for Sam to speak instead.  
  
Sam took a breath, sending a gaze of wordless thanks Gabe's way before continuing: “My mom died when I was three. Dean was about nine, so he remembers it better, but I remember enough. Not really much about her dying, but I remember what it did to my dad. He and my mom, they were...” Despite everything, he let out a breathy laugh, a fond sound. “They were so in love. She was everything to him. I mean, I've seen pictures of them from when she was still alive, from their wedding day...The way he looked at her, it was like nothing else mattered.  
  
“Anyway, she died, and my dad...It was like he lost a part of himself. There were nights when Dean had to make me dinner because my dad just couldn't...There were times, even years after, when I would wake up in the middle of the night, and I'd go into the living room, and I'd see him just sitting there on the couch, just staring at nothing. Not moving or anything. And it scared me so much. I was just a little kid, and Dean...he didn't know how to handle it any better than I did. I didn't know what to do. I just knew my daddy was hurting and I couldn't help him...”  
  
He wrapped his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders and looking away, not speaking again until the burning in his eyes had subsided, which it eventually did. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he got better. He never really got over it, but he was there more until things were...close enough to normal, I guess. And then when I was fifteen...”  
  
He stopped, the throb in his chest and throat too much, not letting him go any further. God, he didn't want to cry in the middle of a bookstore, but it was looking like he just might. He breathed deep, fighting back the tears, and suddenly he felt a hand on his knee.  
  
“Sam.” He looked up. Gabe was gazing up at him with such pure sincerity that Sam had to relax at his touch. “If you don't want to talk about it-”  
  
“No, I want to...” Sam looked away, took a deep breath, and repeated, softly, “I want to.”  
  
The silence dragged on as Sam sucked his lips in between his teeth, thinking on his words. “He died when I was fifteen. He worked in an auto shop, and he was closing one night, and there was a gas leak. The whole place went up.” He heard Gabe let out a breath, but he still didn't look at him. “Anyway, Dean had been working for a while, had a place, so I lived with him. Just the two of us, and it's been that way ever since. But there were nights...” He paused, ran a hand over his eyes and found his fingers came away wet. He stared down at his palms.  
  
“There was this one night...I found him on the couch at two in the morning, just sitting there...Just like my dad had. Not even moving. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. It was like all the emotions inside just got to be too much and he just...couldn't. He just had to shut down and reboot. It happened to my dad, and it happened to Dean, and both times there was nothing I could do to help...”  
  
He choked, hiding his face in his hands.  
  
Gabe's chair clattered as he stood, putting both hands on Sam's arms and leaning close. “You're doing everything you need to do,” he said. And when Sam finally did manage to look up, his vision blurry still, he was so close, staring at him with almost frightening intensity.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You're _living_ , Sam. You're going to college, getting a degree. From what I gather, that's everything your brother wants you to do. And it's just what your dad would have wanted, and your mom too.”  
  
Sam exhaled deeply, and it was like a rush of emotion left him in one breath. His shoulders slumped, and Gabe pulled away, sitting down again, scooting up close.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam said. “You know, for...for listening to my sob story.”  
  
“It's not a sob story,” Gabe said, and he shrugged. “It's just your story.”  
  
Sam managed a smile.  
  
“What's yours?” he asked.  
  
“Mine?” Sam nodded. “It's...well it's...” Gabe sighed, and he seemed as if he was speaking to himself when he said, “Guess it's only fair.” He leaned forward in his chair, clasping his fingers together and twiddling his thumbs.  
  
“I told you I have brothers, sisters...Well truth is I haven't seen them in a while. In a few years actually. I...” He sighed again, magnificently. “I was kicked out of my home. As for why, it's...God, it's a really long story, but the point is, I wound up here, alone. Made what I could of it.”  
  
“Gabe...” Sam breathed. “I'm sorry...”  
  
Gabe shrugged. “Nothing you can do about it, kiddo.”  
  
“Still...”  
  
Gabe forced a smile, but all Sam saw in it was agony.  
  
“Why this place?” he asked after a moment, looking around at the shelves and the rafters. “I mean, why a book store in Lawrence?”  
  
“Lawrence was kind of just luck of the draw. And as for a book store...well, why not? I told you, I'm a romantic. I like books. I like it here. I guess I...I like feeling like I'm helping people.” Sam furrowed his brow at him, not quite understanding.  
  
“See books...they're not magical. They're plain, ordinary even. But they're...well, they're reliable. They give you what you need. They can cheer you up, give you catharsis, even take you somewhere else if you don't want to be where you are. And no matter how old they get, or how tattered or beat up or worn down they are, they still do their job just fine. So when I sell people these books, I'm giving them a way to get what it is they need right then, even if they don't know they need it. And I guess I like that. I like feeling like I'm giving people a way to escape.”  
  
It made far too much sense, and Sam suddenly felt a frighteningly overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. He didn't, though. Gabe beat him to it.  
  
Suddenly there was no air or space separating them; it was just flesh against chapped flesh, and Sam froze. There were no fireworks, no explosion of color and sound, just a sudden flood of _safe_ , of _secure_ , of _home_ that he couldn't describe properly in words. As Gabe tried to pull away, Sam found himself wanting to cling to him, to hold him there, so he brought his hand up to the back of Gabe's neck and pulled him closer against him, letting his eyes close as Gabe brought a hand up to Sam's shoulder and gripped him tight.  
  
Finally, they parted, and Sam blinked slowly up at him, letting his palm slip from the nape of Gabe's neck. Gabe smiled at him nervously.  
  
“Sorry,” he said with a breathy chuckle and a slight flush in his cheeks. “I couldn't resist.”  
  
“Don't be,” Sam replied. “Don't be sorry. I was...I'm pretty sure I was about to do the same thing.” Gabe's eyebrows shot up as Sam laughed softly, and he sat back into his chair, shifting up closer so their knees were just touching.  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
Sam glanced outside; it was still early, but it was only going to get colder, and he had an intimidating load of class work waiting for him back home. He didn't want to leave, but Gabe still picked up on his anxiety, and his face fell.  
  
“Do you need to get going?” he asked, the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam admitted as he stood. Gabe watched him make his way toward the door. Sam turned. “But I...” Gabe straightened up, meandering over to him, and Sam let out a breathy chuckle. “Alright, I suck at this, but here it goes anyway...Do you want to get dinner or something? Maybe this Friday night?”  
  
“Sasquatch,” Gabe breathed in mock surprise. “Are you courting me?”  
  
Sam smiled and bit one side of his lip before nodding. “Yeah. Why not?”  
  
“Well then I'd love to.”  
  
Exuberance swelled in Sam's chest.  
  
“Great,” he said. “Eight? I can pick you up here, or...well, where do you live?”  
  
Gabe pointed upwards. “Right upstairs,” he said. Sam glanced up the narrow staircase by the side of the store that led out of sight. Well that solved one mystery.  
  
“Guess that makes it convenient,” Sam said. He glanced back at Gabe. “I’ll see you then?”  
  
“I can hardly wait.”  
  
Sam grinned and said, “Same here.” He opened the door and headed out into the chilled air.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Gabe leaned against the door frame. “Thanks. You know, for listening to my sob story.”  
  
“Not a sob story, Gabe,” Sam said with a cocksure smile. “Just yours.”  


* * *

  
Sam closed the door behind him and leaned against it, sliding down several inches and staring up at the ceiling. He'd always thought people saying that they felt lighter than air in situations like this were ridiculous, but maybe he could understand what they were getting at. He wasn't sure if he felt lighter, but there was definitely something missing, a weight that he'd been carrying at the base of his spine that had left him now, and it was a wonderful feeling.  
  
“Look at you,” Dean scoffed when he laid eyes on his brother, and Sam straightened. “You look like you're about ready to break into song.”  
  
“Wasn't planning on it,” Sam said, smiling all the same.  
  
“Well still, what happened?”  
  
Sam didn't answer; instead, he looked Dean square on and asked him, “Can I take the Impala on Friday?”  
  
Dean frowned, as he always did when Sam asked to borrow his precious car. It made sense that Dean was protective of it; after all, it was vintage and it had belonged to their father. But this was important nonetheless.  
  
“What for?” came the predictable question.  
  
“Uh...I have a date?”  
  
Dean's eyebrows arched almost to his hairline.  
  
“A date?” he repeated.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Then came the enormous grin.  
  
“Lemme guess...book store guy?”  
  
“Gabe,” Sam corrected. “And yes.”  
  
“Aw, Sammy! I knew you had it in you!” He clapped his brother warmly on the shoulder. “Even if it did take you a few weeks too long to get around to it.”  
  
“Can I borrow the car or not?”  
  
“Sure you can, just as long as you don't mess up the upholstery.” He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, and Sam did his best to glare.  
  
“ _Dean_.”  
  
“Relax! You can take my baby. I'll get a ride to work. I got the late shift.”  
  
“I thought that was Wednesdays.”  
  
“Yeah, well I moved it over. It's not like I'm out doing anything on Friday nights anyway.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Dean.”  
  
“Anything to help my little brother impress his _loooover_.” Dean batted his eyelashes at him, and Sam punched him in the arm.


	4. Chapter 4

“Will you quit pacing?”  
  
“I'm not pacing!”  
  
“You've been up to the kitchen four times in the last ten minutes,” Dean pointed out as he adjusted his coat over his shoulders. “At this rate you'll cut a path through the carpet before you leave for your date.”  
  
“I told you,” Sam huffed, planting both palms on the kitchen counter and leaning toward his brother. “I'm not pacing.”  
  
Dean just smiled and patted Sam on the shoulder. “You're as nervous as a blushing virgin bride, Sammy.” Sam slapped his hand away.  
  
“I'm not blushing, I'm not a virgin, and I'm nobody's bride,” he said. “And I'm not nervous!”  
  
“Okay then I won't tell you to calm down and I won’t tell you that everything’s going to be fine.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Sam turned the faucet on and stared at the flowing water.  
  
“Look, Benny's coming to pick me up any minute. I'll be back around one o'clock.” He straightened his collar. “You take care of the car, you hear?”  
  
“Or I die a slow and painful death. I hear you. Got it.”  
  
“Great.” A horn blared outside, and Dean strode over to look out the window. “That's my ride.” He zipped up his jacket and grinned, pausing in the doorway. “Good luck, little bro.”  
  
Sam grunted in response, but after Dean had left he muttered a soft, “Thanks...” under his breath. He sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, but all he could concentrate on was the clock on the wall. It was just past 4:30. Three and a half hours to go until it was time to go and meet Gabe.  
  
For their date.  
  
Five minutes later, he got up and went back to the kitchen.

* * *

  
It was dark by the time Sam pulled up to the shop, and the nearly full moon shone overhead. The lights were still on inside, and through the windows, he could see Gabe closing up, scurrying between the shelves and the counter; he smiled fondly. He honked the horn twice, and Gabe looked up, caught Sam's eye through the window, and grinned at him. He shut off the lights, locked the door behind him and sauntered across the sidewalk to slide into the passenger's seat of the Impala.  
  
“Nice wheels,” he said with a whistle. “Damn, I almost want to tear my clothes off just looking at it!”  
  
About seven different comebacks to that sprinted through Sam’s mind, but he shoved them down.  
  
“You're awfully punctual,” Gabe continued as he put on his seat belt. “Whatever happened to being fashionably late?”  
  
“I'll remember that for next time,” Sam said. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb as Gabe raised his eyebrows at him.  
  
“So you're already saying there's gonna be a next time?” he asked.  
  
“Unless you make a complete asshole of yourself tonight, I'd like to hope so.”  
  
“Well then, I'll try to keep the assholiness to a minimum.” Gabe grinned and started rifling through the glove compartment.  
  
“I'm not responsible for anything you find in there,” Sam was quick to warn him. “This is my brother's car.”  
  
“So if I find lube and condoms, I shouldn't get my hopes up?” Sam choked on his own breath, but tried not to let it show, covering it with a cough. “Aw, relax sasquatch. I'm just messing with you. Nothing in here but the usual stuff, anyway. Guess your brother's not the kinky type.”  
  
Sam snorted. He couldn't help it.  
  
“Or is he?” Gabe asked with a smirk.  
  
“I am _not_ answering that about my brother,” Sam said adamantly, chuckling all the same.  
  
“Well at least we're not wasting time with awkward small talk,” Gabe offered as he closed the glove compartment and drummed his hands on his thighs. “Where are we going anyway? I wasn't sure how to dress for the occasion.”  
  
Sam glanced at him. The form-fitting turtleneck sweater he was wearing complimented his slim frame, and the deep blue color went well with his light hair and eyes. A thin silver chain hung around his neck. With that in addition to the black slacks that hugged his legs, he actually looked like he'd put far more effort into his choice of outfit than Sam had. Sam had just chosen his least wrinkled dress shirt and pulled it on before combing his hair; he had never been one for dressing up much.  
  
“You look fine,” he assured Gabe, and Gabe seemed to accept that it was true, shrugging. “We're not going anywhere fancy. I was thinking Blind Saints Cafe. Never been there, but Yelp apparently loves it.”  
  
“Any place that's good with Yelp is good with me,” Gabe joked.  
  
They stopped at a red light, and Gabe suddenly leaned in to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. Sam tensed, turning to glance at him and donning a crooked grin.  
  
“What was that for?” he asked with a nervous laugh.  
  
“For that damn blush,” Gabe replied, pointing at Sam's face. “It's adorable.”  
  
“I'm not blushing,” Sam insisted, but he was pretty sure he was as red as the stop light glaring through the windshield.

* * *

  
For some reason, the reality of the fact that they were, in fact, on an honest-to-goodness date didn't really hit Sam until they were seated in the Blind Saints Cafe, at a table by the window. Cars rolled by on the street outside, their headlights cutting through the darkness.  
  
The restaurant was small, but the walls were lined with windows, keeping it from feeling at all constricting. In fact, it was homey, the lights dim, its color scheme cool and dark, exposed brickwork on the walls giving it a laid-back, easy atmosphere. The low buzz of conversation from other tables joined the soft, lilting music flowing from the speakers.  
  
“When was the last time you went on a date anyway?” Gabe asked him, gazing at him from behind his menu. Sam looked up and could see only his eyes over the edge of it.  
  
He smiled and glanced down at the tablecloth. “Not for a while,” he admitted. “You?”  
  
Gabe shrugged. “Don't think I ever have.” He went back to the menu, but Sam nearly dropped his.  
  
“You've _never_ been on a date?” he scoffed, a laugh escaping him despite the fact that he tried to fight it. “You've gotta be kidding.”  
  
“Do I look like I'm kidding?” Gabe asked, and he adopted an expression that was so mockingly serious it was ridiculous, narrowing his eyes and pouting magnificently.  
  
“I just thought...guy like you would get asked out more.”  
  
“Why? Because I'm sex on legs?” He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, but Sam just smiled.  
  
“Because you're so...I don't know, you just seem so good with people!”  
  
“Yeah? Well...” Gabe leaned forward, pinning the menu under his elbows on the table. “Despite me being a hopeless romantic, romance is not a huge part of my life. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not completely inexperienced, per-se, but I just haven't ever been on an honest-to-goodness date.”  
  
“Huh...” Sam breathed, bringing his glass of water to his lips.  
  
“What about you then?” Gabe asked him.  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“I mean you said you hadn’t been on a date in a while. How long has it been?”  
  
“Uh...” Sam looked up at the ceiling and thought on it. “A few years at least. I mean I...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve ah...spent time with a few people here and there, but it’s been a while since I’ve actually done the whole wine and dine thing.”  
  
“So socially awkward Sam isn’t so socially awkward after all, huh?” Gabe teased.  
  
“I’m really not all  _that_ socially awkward, you know.”  
  
“Clearly. Next you’ll be telling me you starred in a porno.”  
  
“I can honestly say I’ve never been in a porno,” Sam chuckled.  
  
“I have.”  
  
Sam choked on his water.  
  
“You wh-what?”  
  
“What?” Gabe asked, as if he was completely oblivious to why that could ever be shocking.  
  
“I just...” Sam found himself laughing, and whether it was just a nervous tick or he was just plain entertained by the man across from him was beyond him at the moment. “That's not really something I thought people brought up on a first date.”  
  
“I told you, we’re kind of past the awkward small talk point, Sam,” Gabe pointed out. “Course, if you wanted to talk about the weather, we could always try that.”  
  
“It's fine. I just...” Sam leaned in. “Are you being serious, or are you just messing with me right now?”  
  
Gabe said nothing, but he smirked and arched his eyebrows playfully.  
  
“Wow. Okay.”  
  
“I personally like to believe in total openness when possible.”  
  
“Good to know,” Sam said. He scanned over his menu for a moment.  
  
“Haven't scared you off, have I?” Gabe asked after a moment.  
  
Sam chuckled and bit his lip. “Not yet.” He leaned in close, squinting at Gabe, and asked, “What porno?”  
  
Gabe just rolled his eyes. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

* * *

  
Sam was just wrapping up an epic re-telling of the absolutely horrendous first time he’d ever attended a frat party when he noticed the first look. Gabe was laughing so hard he was red in the face, his half-eaten turkey club sandwich sitting ignored on his plate because he couldn't take a bite without choking, and Sam happened to glance past him and made eye contact with a  woman at a far table. She frowned, turning immediately and whispering to the man opposite her, and a weight dropped in his stomach. He stared down at his chicken Caesar salad, his appetite suddenly gone along with his smile.  
  
“Sam?” Gabe asked, sounding concerned as the laughter drained from his voice. “You okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Sam replied stiffly.  
  
“Doesn't look like it. The chicken past its prime or something?”  
  
“No.” His tone was far more harsh than he'd intended, and he sighed, slouching forward, making himself look as small as possible – which really was no easy feat. “I just...” He poked at his food with his fork, staring down at his plate. “People are staring at us...”  
  
Gabe looked out at the rest of the restaurant before turning back to Sam and saying, “So?”  
  
Sam glanced up, and Gabe was suddenly gazing at him with such intensity that he could almost feel the power of it heating up the air around him. He blinked.  
  
“Who cares if people are staring? Does it make you want to be here any less? Because it doesn't for me. Let them stare if they want.”  
  
Sam sighed. “That's easy to say, but-”  
  
“No, it's not. It's fucking hard to say. It's one of the hardest things in the world to stop caring what other people think of you and just let yourself be happy. But I'm not gonna let anything stop me from enjoying my first date, and definitely not my first one with you.”  
  
Gabe sat back in his seat with a soft exhale, as if his miniature rant had taken a lot out of him, and he lazily raised one eyebrow at him. “Besides,” he added. “They're all probably just jealous that they're not out to dinner with such a handsome specimen of manhood.” He smirked, and Sam found himself mirroring the expression.  
  
“You mean they're all jealous of me?” he said, and to his supreme shock and delight, Gabe blushed.  
  
“Sam, you smooth talker,” he teased, and he hid behind his sandwich.

* * *

  
Blind Saints Cafe was closing by the time they left around eleven o'clock. The minute the check hit the table, Sam reached for it, but Gabe nabbed it with lightning-quick reflexes.  
  
“Gabe, you don't have to-”  
  
“Don't even try, sasquatch,” Gabe warned, wagging a finger at him. “Lay a hand on this check and I will cut your fingers off.” He grabbed the first utensil that was within reach. Sam arched an eyebrow and smirked.  
  
“With a spork?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Gabe, seriously. I asked you out.”  
  
“It's not the 1950's anymore, Sam.”  
  
“You helped me out when those guys messed with me.”  
  
“That was an act of charity.”  
  
“You gave me free books!”  
  
“They weren't free, and you worked off that debt.” He clutched the check in his hands, tucking two bills inside the leather booklet, and when the waiter came to collect, Gabe told him to keep the change. Gabe grinned at Sam triumphantly.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam finally relented as they headed for the door.  
  
“Don't mention it,” Gabe said. “Now hold that door for me like a gentleman!”

* * *

  
“Well that wasn't disastrous,” Sam said as he slid into the driver's seat.  
  
“I disagree,” Gabe replied. “The turkey in my sandwich was way too dry. Tonight is ruined.” He was smiling while he spoke, though, and Sam paused, thoughtfully running his hands across the leather of the steering wheel.  
  
“Look, I...” He paused. Gabe waited patiently, hands folded in his lap. “I'm sorry...you know, about getting freaked out. I just...it bugs me when people look at me like there's something wrong with me for no reason.”  
  
Gabe suddenly looked sad, and Sam worried he'd touched a nerve, especially when Gabe looked away, gazing down at his hands and flexing his fingers. “I get it,” he finally said. “I really do. And yeah, it sucks. It's always gonna suck.” He smiled, but Sam could tell it was forced. “But way I see it, if people are gonna look at you weird either way – which they are – you might as well let yourself be happy. Because then you stop noticing them as much.”  
  
Sam studied him – they studied each other – for a long time, and it was as if time slowed around them. The moment stretched on and on, and Sam found himself smiling and nodding and saying, “I like the way you think,” before he was leaning in to kiss Gabe. It was deep, and slow, and overflowing with so many emotions that Sam's head spun. Gabe brought his hands up to rake through Sam's hair as Sam's fingers slipped from the steering wheel. He pressed his palm against Gabe's shoulder, letting his tongue slip between Gabe's teeth, licking at the roof of his mouth. Gabe bit down on his lip, and Sam moaned before he could stop himself, his fingers tensing, fingernails digging into Gabe's shirt.  
  
He pulled away with Gabe's name on his lips, a soft, shallow sound: “Gabe...” Gabe blinked slowly up at him. “I'm...this is crazy...It's crazy, but I...”  
  
“Do you really think I would have a problem with crazy?” Gabe asked, smirking lazily up at him, his fingers still trailing across Sam's scalp.  
  
Sam had to lean in for another taste, unable to resist. His lips lingered over Gabe's after he’d pulled back, their eyelashes nearly brushing as he breathed, “I don't normally...”  
  
Gabe's sharp laugh cut him off.  
  
“Skip the bit about how you don't normally do stuff like this, Sam,” he said. “Get right to the point.” He pressed his forehead against Sam's, gazing up at him intently. His question was a whisper: “What do you want?”  
  
Sam blinked slowly, and his only response was to press his lips to Gabe's again, harder this time, his hands skimming down Gabe's sides.  
  
“Dean has the late shift tonight,” was all he said when he pulled away again and found both of them breathless. “Won't be back until late.”  
  
Gabe smirked. “I like the way _you_ think.”

* * *

  
The minute they were through the door, Sam pinned Gabe against the kitchen counter. “Geez, kiddo,” Gabe breathed in his ear as Sam's lips moved to his neck. “It's always the quiet ones isn't it?” His words dissolved into a moan as Sam's fingers combed through Gabe's hair.  
  
“Can I...” Sam trailed off, pulling back, pressing his forehead against Gabe's, eyes shut. “Gabe, can I...”  
  
Gabe nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Sam. God yes.”  
  
Sam opened his eyes and their gazes met and locked.  
  
“You're driving me crazy, Sam,” Gabe sighed as Sam tugged him toward his bedroom.  
  
“I thought you said you liked crazy.”  
  
“There's good crazy and bad crazy.”  
  
Sam pressed him against the door frame, leaning down to nip at his neck. “Which one is this?” he asked, words muffled against his skin. Gabe sighed as Sam's tongue flicked across his pulse point.  
  
“Ah...good crazy. Definitely good crazy. Awesome crazy. Perfect crazy. Fan-fucking-tastic crazy.”  
  
Gabe caught his lip between his teeth and scraped his fingernails down over Sam's shoulders, hands trailing down around to his chest as Sam closed the door behind them. “Buttons...” Gabe mumbled bitterly as he tried with shaking fingers to open Sam's shirt. “Why do people even bother with buttons anymore?” Sam just smiled and breathed out a laugh, pushing Gabe's hands out of the way and undoing the last few buttons himself, pulling his shirt off and letting it drop to the floor.  
  
Gabe looked him up and down and went positively slack-jawed. “ _Damn_ , sasquatch,” he breathed.  
  
“What?” If Sam hadn't already been red in the face, he was relatively certain he would have flushed under Gabe's awestruck gaze.  
  
“What do you mean what?” Gabe scoffed. “Look at your damn _abs_ , Sam!”  
  
“What about them?”  
  
“They're...well they're...” He let out a breath, reaching out to run a hand over Sam's midsection. Sam shivered. “Now I'm just self-conscious.”  
  
“Don't be,” Sam said with a low chuckle. He sat down on the foot of his bed, reaching up for Gabe. “C'mere,” he breathed, and Gabe leaned down, straddling his thighs and settling in his lap. Sam hooked his hands under the hem of Gabe's sweater, pulling it off over his head and tossing it away before wrapping his arms around Gabe's slim frame. They dipped backwards, mouths locked together, Gabe's hands firmly planted on Sam's shoulders as Sam's hands ghosted over his shoulder blades, down his spine, fingers toying with Gabe's slacks.  
  
Sam watched, his breath rushing out of him as Gabe pushed himself up, sitting back on his knees, and Sam ran a slow hand up his hip as Gabe reached for Sam's zipper, undoing it with a smirk and clawing at his jeans. Sam arched his back, letting them slide off, and Gabe was quick to wriggle out of his own slacks too, pressing forward again until their bodies were flush together. The cool metal of Gabe's chain necklace dragged across Sam's collar bone as Gabe tangled his fingers in Sam's hair.  
  
“Gabe...” Sam breathed, and Gabe opened his eyes and grinned down at him.  
  
“That blush,” he said. He leaned in to press a surprisingly chaste kiss against Sam's temple, over the tiny mark that was all that remained of the wound that had preceded their first meeting. “It's so damn adorable.”  
  
Sam hooked a hand around the back of Gabe's neck and yanked him down, kissing away his smirk.  
  
Skin slid against skin, and Gabe breathed formless syllables into Sam's neck with every movement. Sam let his head fall back against the pillow, closing his eyes, letting the sensation of Gabe's lips dragging across his jaw overtake him. The heat and friction between their bodies melted away all coherent thought as Gabe reached down, took both of them in his hand and let a gasp escape his throat. They fell into a rhythm, syncronous with their heartbeats and accelerating with the pounding in Sam's chest.  
  
Sam's hands drifted over Gabe's body, so small in his arms, so easy to memorize. He devoted the feel of him to memory: the way his muscles tightened and twisted beneath his skin with every movement; the rise and fall of his chest and his rapid, shaky breath; the sound of his voice, ragged and desperate as it shaped itself into moans and sighs and broken pieces of language.  
  
He rolled his hips, reaching down and fumbling against Gabe's fingers for just a moment before replacing Gabe's smaller hand with his own. Gabe let out a small whine of pleasure and gratitude, palms firm and warm against Sam's chest as he rocked against Sam's palm. Sam bent his knees, letting Gabe sink deeper between his legs, and he cried out when he finally came with Gabe's teeth grazing against his shoulder.

Gabe leaned downward and kissed him, swallowed his gasp, drank in the sound of his name from Sam's lips, and he sighed. His shoulders rounded, as if invisible wings were flaring out from his back. Sam gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes as Gabe unraveled, the sweat on his brow glinting in the low light and his lip caught between his teeth. He tipped over the edge, not with a moan or a whine, but with a sigh that rattled his small frame.  
  
Gabe slouched forward, humming gently, and Sam gathered him in his arms, brought Gabe's head down to rest in the indent of his neck, and they tried to remember what it felt like to breathe normally.  
  
Soon, Gabe rolled onto his stomach beside him and pressed close to his side, his arm hanging off the edge of the bed as he twirled his fingers lazily through the air, like he was conducting some invisible orchestra in the dark.  
  
Neither of them said anything, and Sam found himself laughing.  
  
“Funny?” Gabe muttered into the pillow, barely turning his head to peek at him.  
  
Breathlessly, Sam mused, “It's just...I think this is the first time I've seen you speechless.”  
  
“Well,” Gabe said with one eyebrow arched, “I think that's mostly your fault.”  
  
They slipped into silence again. Sam stared at the ceiling.  
  
“You wanna stay here?” he asked, just barely audible. This time Gabe did look at him.  
  
“You think I'm just gonna skip out on you in the middle of the night?”  
  
“No, I just...” Sam stopped, letting out a breath slow between his lips as he reached up to trace a knuckle up Gabe's side, from his hip to his shoulder. He flattened his palm over Gabe's neck, the short hairs there tickling the tips of his fingers. “You'll stay then?”  
  
“Course I will.” Gabe shifted, letting Sam wrap a long arm around him and tucking his nose against Sam's shoulder. He seemed to be on the verge of drifting to sleep when he said, “You gotta get a bigger bed though.”  
  
Sam smiled, his own eyelids heavy. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said, as he let them slip closed.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam woke up sluggishly, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings as he was dragged back into consciousness by the light streaming through his bedroom window and the sound of the traffic rolling by outside. He drew in a breath, stretching his legs and curling his toes. Something warm shifted beside him, and finally he opened his eyes.  
  
Gabe was curled up next to him, and at some point during the night he'd pulled every bit of the blankets and sheets on Sam's bed around his own body. It was a comical image; the top of Gabe's head poked out from a sea of fabric, his hair ruffled and his eyes lightly closed.  
  
Sam shivered, and despite his reluctance to disturb him, he reached out towards Gabe, grabbing a corner of one of the blankets and gently tugging. It didn't give in the least – Gabe only gripped it tighter – and he sighed. He pulled harder, and Gabe groaned, nuzzling down into the blankets. A hand shot out from the Gabe's cocoon and tried to smack Sam's arm away.  
  
“Gabe, will you give me some damn blankets?” Sam groaned, still groggy.  
  
“Get your own,” Gabe mumbled into the pillow.  
  
“They _are_  mine.”  
  
Gabe let out a soft “Mmff...” and relaxed his grip, letting Sam pull some of the sheets back over to his side to cover himself.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam breathed. He yawned and lay back again, closing his eyes.  
  
“Mmhmmf.”  


* * *

  
The rustle of fabric against skin woke Sam again some time later, though he wasn't sure just how much longer he'd slept. He opened one eye, wondering for a moment if Gabe had stolen all of his blankets again, but the bed was empty beside him. Gabe was standing, pulling on his pants.  
  
Sam reached out and grabbed his slim wrist, and Gabe turned.  
  
“You leaving?” Sam asked softly.  
  
Gabe smiled. “Nah,” he said. “I've had to pee for the last hour though.”  
  
“Oh...” Sam yawned magnificently. “What time is it?”  
  
“Ah...” Gabe glanced at his wrists for a watch that wasn't there, then searched the room for a clock. “'Bout ten,” he said.  
  
Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Don't you need to open your shop?” he asked. Gabe paused, let his arms fall loosely to his sides and smirked down at him.  
  
“It's _my_  shop,” he reminded Sam as he leaned downward, pressing a sleepy kiss to his lips. “I can open it when I damn well please.”  


* * *

  
The bed dipped a few minutes later as Gabe sat down next to him again, and Sam glanced up, waiting for him to lie back. He didn't, though; he just sat there, stiffly, and Sam furrowed his brow, anxiety settling in his gut.  
  
“Gabe,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. Gabe blinked at him. “You okay?”  
  
“Don't get mad,” was all Gabe said in reply.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just...don't get mad.”  
  
“You know, you saying that is really reassuring me,” Sam told him. Gabe said nothing; his gaze darted between Sam and the door. “Gabe, what happened? Did the toilet explode or something?”  
  
“No,” said Gabe. “But I...” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and offering Sam a crooked, half-forced grin. “I met your brother.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Sam threw the covers off and was out of bed like a gunshot, heading straight for the door until Gabe cleared his throat loudly behind him. He paused, turned, and Gabe merely gazed at him with one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face, glancing up and down his body until Sam realized his clothes were still strewn about the room.  
  
“Oh-” he choked, and Gabe tried very unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh as Sam grabbed his jeans and pulled them on.  
  
“At least I remembered to put pants on,” Gabe offered as Sam reached for the doorknob.  
  
Dean was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sam started, stumbling as he opened the door, and he tried to force a casual smile, but it didn't work. Dean cocked one lazy eyebrow.  
  
“Morning, Sammy.”  
  
“You're up early,” Sam said. ”It's not even noon.”  
  
“Well I was about to go back to bed, but ah...I think there's one more person in this apartment than usual.”  
  
“Dean, right?” asked Gabe as he poked his head around Sam's shoulder, pointing a finger towards Dean.  
  
“I'm guessing this is Gabe,” Dean said, still nodding toward Sam. Sam smiled awkwardly at his brother.  
  
“Pleasure,” Gabe continued, extending a hand. Dean didn't take it.  
  
“Dude,” he said instead, “I will shake your hand when you have a shirt on. Nothing against you, but I personally prefer not to have first introductions when people are half-naked.” Gabe withdrew his hand as Dean ran his own fingers through his ruffled hair and headed for the kitchen.  
  
“Hell of a first impression,” Gabe offered.  
  
“Relax,” Sam assured him. “He'll warm up to you. This uh...this isn't exactly how I'd wanted you guys to meet.”  
  
“Well I'll bet it's not exactly easy to be polite to a guy who you probably can't stop picturing naked with your little brother.”  
  
“I can _hear_ you!” Dean called from the kitchen, sounding very much like he was in physical pain. Sam tried not to laugh; he really did, but Gabe was giggling behind him, and it was far too infectious not to give in.  


* * *

  
“You don't want to stay for breakfast or anything?” Sam offered as Gabe lingered in the doorway. Gabe glanced with a smirk over at Dean, who was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee, trying to look casual.  
  
“Nah,” he said offhandedly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “As much as I love to pretend I don't, I do have a job to do. And besides, I'm sure you and your brother have some talking to do anyway.”  
  
“Can I at least give you a ride?”  
  
“I'll just walk.” He shrugged. “It's nice out.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam relented.  
  
Gabe quirked an eyebrow and smiled up at him. “You gonna get down here or what?” Sam grinned, chuckling and leaning down to kiss him, feeling Gabe thread his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck. He found himself laughing against Gabe's lips, feeling relaxed and somewhat giddy, and when he pulled away, his smile had grown twofold.  
  
“Freaking adorable,” Gabe mused. “I'll see you, sasquatch.”  
  
Sam felt like he was in a daze, and Gabe was just slipping out the door when he replied, “Yeah, see you...”  
  
The minute the door closed, he turned to Dean, frowning. “You could have at least tried to be friendly,” he said.  
  
“Dude, the first time I meet the guy is as he's walking down the hall half-naked with absolutely zero warning. You can't exactly expect me to bloom into a social butterfly on the spot, you know.” Sam deflated, sighing and hunching against the kitchen counter.  
  
“I'm sorry, okay? I didn't exactly...plan for you guys to meet that way.”  
  
“Oh, I bet you didn't,” Dean said with a knowing nod and that damn Cheshire Cat grin. Sam straightened up, glaring half heartedly at his brother. “Look, he seems great, okay? I'd love to meet him sometime when everyone's fully clothed and doesn't have...” He gestured at his head with a grimace. “...sex-hair.”  
  
Sam ran a palm over his own scalp, trying to smooth down his unruly hair a bit. “I'm gonna take a shower,” he said, and when Dean opened his mouth to speak again, he pointed at him. “Don't you say a damn word.”  
  
Dean pressed his lips together and shrugged, as if he didn't have any idea what Sam was getting at.  
  
When Sam got into the bathroom and gave himself a good look in the mirror, he groaned when he realized that Dean had been all too right about the sex-hair.  


* * *

  
The shop was surprisingly crowded when Sam strode through the door on Sunday: a mother and her two kids browsed through the children's books near the back (or at least, the mother browsed while the kids shouted at each other); a young couple giggled by the door while they looked through a magazine rack; a tall man dressed in a long black overcoat picked through what Sam managed to make out as the _Sherlock Holmes_ series from under a mess of dark hair.  
  
When Sam turned, Gabe was gazing at him from behind the counter, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he grinned.  
  
“You must be some kind of good luck charm, sasquatch,” he said. “Business has been booming all day. I should get dinner with you more often.” He winked, not-so-subtly, and Sam couldn't help but smile right back at him, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a battered iPod.  
  
“You left this at my apartment,” he said as he approached the counter. “I know it's not mine. Mine has more Pearl Jam.”  
  
“Geez, I wondered where this was!” Gabe exclaimed, taking it from him. He looked back up at him, trying his hardest to look put off. “You went through my music?”  
  
“I honestly didn't think you'd mind,” Sam chuckled. “A lot of Florence and the Machine. Nice.”  
  
“She speaks to me,” Gabe said defensively. “It's the closest thing I have to a religion.”  
  
“I'm being serious!” Sam leaned on the counter. “You should play some for me sometime.”  
  
“I just might,” said Gabe, smirking anew, and suddenly he was grasping Sam's collar and pulling him downward, pressing their lips together.  
  
Sam wondered if people were staring and found himself not caring one bit.  


* * *

  
Sam was nearly falling asleep on his feet as he walked home on Tuesday night. He hadn't done any schoolwork all weekend; his mind had been a whirlwind and he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything relating to his classes for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd gone into a self-imposed state of being a hermit in the library for several more hours than he'd originally intended, and while he'd gotten a good amount done and felt accomplished, it was late, and he was exhausted.  
  
The shop was dark when he passed, and while he wasn't surprised, it was strange not seeing the warm light glowing from its interior in the darkness. He glanced up at the second level and could make out a small sliver of light behind the lowered shades in the window, and he surprised himself by smiling fondly. The idea of going up and dropping in on him passed fleetingly through his mind, but he waved it on by; it could wait for another day.  
  
But as he passed, something struck him as odd, catching his eye from inside the store: a sudden shift in the shadows. He stopped, backed up, and peeked through the window. It was almost impossible to see in the dark, but his stomach bottomed out when a figure shifted again, and muffled voices drifted through the door. It wasn't hard for him to work out that this was bad.  
  
He took a breath, reaching for his cell phone, but cursing when he remembered that it was dead. He set his jaw, a sudden wave of protectiveness washing over him, and he set his backpack on the ground by the door, reaching for the knob.  
  
The door was unlocked, pushing open easily, and the minute he stepped inside, he heard the distinct sound of two men gasping and rattling out curses.  
  
There was a loud scuffling, and then everything started happening so fast Sam couldn't think. One of them came at him, a fist whizzing by his cheek, barely missing. Sam still couldn't see, but his heart pounded with the adrenaline rush that took over when he pushed forward, hurling his full weight into the attacker. He gave easily, stumbling several steps backward before rushing at Sam again, fists flying. One caught Sam in the jaw, and he flinched. Another connected with his gut and he doubled over. Everything was dark around him, and he couldn't make out his assailant's face, but in one moment of perfect angling, the light from the street lamp outside streamed through the window and glinted in the man's eyes, and Sam took his chance; he sent his fist flying, and it connected solidly with bone. The figure grunted in pain and crumpled to the floor.  
  
The second one was upon him before he had time to flinch at the pain in his knuckles, a pair of lean arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him back away from the door. Sam clawed at them, tried to get a grip on them, but the second attacker was much stronger than one would have guessed based on his size. Sam felt his legs bump into something metallic and cold: a ladder against the bookshelf, and he slammed the figure back against it. The attacker grunted, but didn't give, and Sam's limited vision was starting to go hazy from the tight press against his windpipe.  
  
Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and both Sam and the two assailants cried out as the brightness assaulted their eyes. Lucas was hunched on the floor, blood flowing from his split lip as he hauled himself up – Sam could only guess that the one with the vice-like grip on his neck was Al – and in the doorway, glaring hard enough to scare the Devil himself, was Gabe.  
  
He had a shotgun in his hands.  
  
Sam took advantage of Al's momentary shock and managed to push him off, shoving him against the ladder and stumbling away.  
  
“Get the hell out of my shop,” Gabe growled, and his voice was unlike Sam had ever heard it: full of malice that made him think he was more than willing and able to use the firearm in his hands.  
  
“Bet you don't even know how to use that thing,” Lucas said, but he still didn't look like he wanted to put that theory to the test.  
  
“You wanna bet?” Gabe asked, and he aimed the gun directly at Lucas' chest. Lucas visibly flinched, and Sam couldn't deny that a sick sense of satisfaction welled in his chest at that.  
  
There was a sudden flash of movement and a loud clatter as Al yanked on the ladder, and the hunk of metal came crashing to the ground. With the momentary distraction, Lucas and Al rushed forward, shoving Gabe back onto the pavement and disappearing into the night.  
  
Sam cried out as the ladder toppled and pinned his arm to the floor. He heard the crack of bone and tears sprang up in his eyes at the white-hot pain that coursed through the limb. He barely heard Gabe calling out his name and rushing toward him, and he clutched his arm to his chest as soon as the ladder was pulled off, cradling it gingerly and leaning back against the bookshelf.  
  
“Sam...Ah, Jesus, sasquatch. Are you okay?” Gabe was breathless and his voice shook as he put the shotgun down on the floor beside him, kneeling by Sam, planting his hand on Sam's shoulder.  
  
“Gabe, I'm sorry...I tried to...I couldn't...” His words came out in a rushing flurry, and Gabe was talking over him, soothingly telling him, “No, Sam. This isn't your fault. God, it's not your fault.”  
  
“I think...I think my arm's broken,” Sam finally forced out.  
  
“I gotcha, Sam. Come on. I gotcha.” He hoisted Sam up slowly, leading him over to the counter, letting him sit in the chair there.  
  
Sam forced himself to laugh. “You weren't lying about the shotgun...” he said.  
  
“Damn thing's not even loaded,” Gabe admitted. “Do you really think I'd ever be able to shoot someone?”  
  
“Still, did the trick.”  
  
“Well enough.”  
  
Sam looked up at the bookshelf, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabe's face fall when he did. The color drained out of his face, and a heavy weight lodged itself in his gut, making him unsure of whether he wanted to cry or vomit, maybe both.  
  
“Sam...they're morons. Assholes. Dicks. They don't mean anything.”  
  
Gabe's words did little to convince him, even if Sam desperately wished they could.  
  
“Gabe...Gabe, fuck I'm sorry...” He leaned forward, pressing his face against Gabe's shirt. Gabe's fingers trailed through his hair.  
  
“Don't apologize, Sam...It's okay...You're okay...We're okay...”  
  
He didn't pull away, didn't look up, couldn't bear the thought of having to see the dreadful, horrendous sight of the malicious letters _F-A-G_ tagged on the bookshelf across the room. 

* * *

  
Gabe signed Sam's cast. He was the second person (after Dean, of course) to do so, and he took up nearly half of one side. Sam eventually had to take the Sharpie away from him, which made Gabe whine loudly about Sam stifling his creative process, but the real reason Sam did so was because – no matter how adorable he looked concentrating so hard, with his tongue thrust out past his lips on one side of his mouth as he worked – he couldn't stop seeing the guilt that hid just behind Gabe's eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Gabe to blame himself for any of this.  
  
Friday afternoon, the next time Sam went to the shop, his gaze lingered on the blue tarp that covered the bookshelf. The ruined books were in boxes in the corner and behind the counter, covered by old bedsheets. The sight of it was almost morbid, as if someone's life had actually been cut short that night.  
  
“Good news, sasquatch!” Gabe piped when Sam walked in. “The streets of Lawrence are going to be short two dickwads for the next few months.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked. Gabe slipped out from behind the counter, taking Sam's arm and making him turn to face him – and more importantly, face away from the covered bookshelf.  
  
“I was starting to think that thing was a crap investment, but I guess I was wrong.” Sam's eyes trailed up to where Gabe was pointing: a security camera nestled in the corner. He let out a small laugh.  
  
“I didn't know you even had security in here,” he said. “You know, besides the shotgun.”  
  
“Guess they didn't either. But it got a good long view of those two asshats. With any luck, they'll be put away for a few months at least.”  
  
“Lucas and Al?” Sam asked, eyes widening. “You're serious?” Gabe nodded.  
  
“Course there's a lot of red tape to go through, but you don't have to worry about that yourself for now. I doubt they'll be bothering you anytime soon, sasquatch.”  
  
“Wow...that's...” He trailed off. It was fantastic. Relief flooded through him like a wave, but his gaze inevitably trailed back to the tarp covering the bookshelf, and the image of the word that had been painted there flashed through his mind.  
  
Gabe planted his hand on Sam's cheek, turning his head to face him. “Sam...what they did. You shouldn't let it get to you.”  
  
Sam laughed bitterly. “Easier said than done.”  
  
“I know it is. But promise me you'll try.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said. “I'm sorry, I just...I didn't want you to get dragged into all this.”  
  
“Sam, listen to me. You didn't drag me into anything. Not a thing. You get that through your thick skull, okay?” He tapped his knuckles lightly against Sam's scalp – it was quite the reach for him - and Sam tried to fight a smile, but he was blissfully unsuccessful. Gabe smiled as well, but the expression faded as he took Sam's bandaged arm between his palms.  
  
“You didn't deserve this, though,” he said. “You're a stubborn son of a bitch, but you didn't deserve this...I just wish I could-” He stopped, suddenly looking thoughtful.  
  
“Gabe?” Sam questioned when he remained silent for an almost uncomfortably long time, his hands still covering the cast.  
  
Suddenly, Gabe pulled him toward the door. “Come with me.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, but Gabe didn't answer; he locked the door and hung a sign in the window that said _Back in Fifteen Minutes_ before dragging Sam up the stairs.  
  
He closed the door behind them and led Sam over to the couch, sitting him down on the flat cushions. “Gabe what the hell's gotten into you?”  
  
When Gabe looked at him, there was such intensity gleaming in his eyes that Sam nearly flinched away. “Listen to me, Sam,” he said. “There's something I haven't...something I've kept from you. Something I need you to see.” Sam's heart raced.  
  
“Gabe...”  
  
“Just...you need to promise you'll trust me. Just trust me. That's all I need you to do.”  
  
Sam blinked. “I...” He sighed. “Okay.”  
  
Gabe let out a breath and placed his hands on Sam's cast again, staring down at it with purpose blazing behind his amber irises before he closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly warmth rushed up Sam's arm, and a soft white glow poured out like gentle fire from beneath Gabe's palms. He gasped as he felt the bones within his arm knit together and heal themselves, and the plaster cast crumbled and fell away.  
  
When Gabe opened his eyes again, he looked almost sheepish, and Sam found he was having a hard time breathing.  
  
“Gabe...you...”  
  
“Healed you,” Gabe finished quietly. He ran a delicate finger up Sam's forearm. “I healed you, Sam.” He smiled, almost hesitantly.  
  
“But how could you...” Sam pulled his arm away, bringing up to eye level so that he could study it; it was pristine, perfect, without a single mark from the injury he'd sustained just days before. “It's like some kind of...”  
  
“Miracle,” Gabe finished for him, and he reached out placed his hand on Sam's knee, waiting for Sam to look him in the eye again before he continued: “And now I need you to trust me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam couldn't breathe.  
  
Gabe stared at him expectantly, leaning forward, quiet, waiting for Sam to make the next move, but there was nothing Sam could do. How could he even begin to process this? He cradled his arm against his chest, still not believing that it was really whole and healed, his fingers brushing against the pristine skin, back and forth, from his elbow to his wrist.  
  
“I've gotta be dreaming,” he muttered, staring at the opposite wall and trying to will himself back to reality because certainly this couldn't be happening. “Dreaming or...or crazy. I'm crazy, aren't I? God, I've gone totally insane or something-”  
  
Gabe's hand was on his arm again, his head tilted to one side. “You're not crazy, Sam. I promise you, you're not crazy.”  
  
Sam just stared at his arm, flexing his fingers, waiting to wake up. Gabe reached forward and brushed the lightly singed bits of plaster and bandages from Sam's lap. “I asked you to trust me,” he said, so softly that Sam almost couldn't hear him over the blood pounding in his own ears. “Do you still trust me?”  
  
Sam turned his gaze from his arm, looked up at Gabe, into his gold-tinted eyes that were now somber and dark with intense purpose, and suddenly he was nodding. Gabe let out a breath and leaned back, his fingers dragging lightly across the denim of Sam's jeans.  
  
“I told you,” Gabe said, all of a sudden sounding anxious – like he was putting an enormous amount of effort into not letting his voice shake as he spoke. “I told you I wasn't from here. That I was from...up north?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. In his mind, he traveled back to the night of their first meeting, and he remembered Gabe's oddly cryptic words.  _You don't have to be cryptic for the sake of character development_ , Sam had told him in response. Now he couldn't help but feel that they'd carried meaning beyond his understanding.  
  
Gabe bit the inside of his cheek, never looking away from Sam's face as he said, “Well I was telling the truth...sort of. But when I said I was from up north, I didn't mean Jersey or Montreal. I meant, well...up _north_.” He extended one finger up toward the ceiling, and Sam glanced upwards.  
  
“What do you mean, north?” he asked.  
  
“I mean way north. About as north as you can get north.”  
  
Sam stared, and a nervous laugh forced its way from his parched throat. “What, you mean Mars or something?”  
  
“No, not _that_ kind of north! I mean-” He cut himself off, sighing and running his hands over his face. “I'm not from...from space, Sam, but I'm not from here. Think clouds, sunshine, pearly gates...”  
  
Sam's lips were slightly parted, and when Gabe finally looked up again, his mouth went completely dry. Gabe said nothing more; he just waited, watching intently, leaning forward with his fingers laced in his lap.  
  
“You're saying you're a...a...”  
  
“Angel,” Gabe finished softly, now fixing his gaze on the floor. “An angel.”  
  
Sam felt his throat close around his words, and suddenly he wasn't sure which of them was the crazy one anymore. “You're not an angel, Gabe,” he said carefully, not looking him in the eye, but instead staring at his hunched shoulder. “I mean, angels...they don't...”  
  
“What?” Gabe asked intently. “They don't exist?”  
  
Sam set his jaw. “I've known that for a while.”  
  
“You've known it,” Gabe scoffed. “Everyone knows things, Sam. When kids are little, they know where babies come from – it's the stork, of course. Can't be anything else. And when people get older, they know that God's out there, or that He isn't. They know because they can feel it, in their heart or in their bones or their soul. And you know that angels can't be real-”  
  
“Because they aren't!” Sam snapped, standing up from the couch, tiny particles of plaster raining down onto the carpet. “There aren't any angels, there's no Heaven, there's no God. There's nothing out there waiting for us, watching us-”  
  
“And you know that, don't you?”  
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
Gabe stood at his full height – which wasn't much next to Sam – and stared up at him, as if issuing a challenge. “How?” he asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“How do you know that? For sure. Tell me.”  
  
Sam stumbled over his words: “Because...I just...do...I don't-”  
  
“Sam.” Gabe's voice was tender, warm and sympathetic, and when Sam finally met his eyes again, his expression had softened. “There's no such thing as perfect. Not Heaven, not even God...” He reached for Sam's arm, taking it gently in his hand and draping his palm over it. His thumb stroked lightly over the short hairs there, over the bumps of the bones in his wrist. “But there is such a thing as good, and Sam...you deserve it.”  
  
“And that's why you healed me,” Sam found himself saying. Gabe nodded. It still wasn't enough; Sam's mind still protested valiantly against what it was being offered. “But you can't be...there's no way you could be an angel...”  
  
“I am, sasquatch,” Gabe said with a melancholy laugh. “Whether you believe it or not.”  
  
Sam met his gaze and squared his shoulder, pulling his arm back. “But you can't be,” he rasped. “I mean you _can't_ be.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because why would an angel ever waste his time in a place like Lawrence, with someone like...” He stopped, and Gabe's eyes suddenly clouded over with such overwhelming sadness that Sam simply couldn't continue. He stared at the floor, but Gabe reached up, cupped Sam's face in his palms and forced him to make eye contact.  
  
“I told you,” he said. “Lawrence was just the luck of the draw. And you...Sam, you deserve so much more than you think you do.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, leaned into Gabe's touch, and barely heard Gabe's words when he asked, “Do you still trust me?” Sam reached up and wrapped his fingers around Gabe's wrist, stood there in silence for a long, stretched out moment before finally nodding.  
  
“I'm crazy,” he said. “But yeah...I do.” He opened his eyes again, and Gabe was smiling, though it was a sad, tired smile. “Gabe...what happened to you?”  
  
Gabe's smile broke, and he looked away, letting his hands drop from Sam's face. He sat back down on the couch, as if a heavy weight had suddenly found its way onto his shoulders. Sam sat next to him.  
  
“I told you,” Gabe finally said, staring down at his own hands. “I was kicked out.”  
  
“Kicked...out?”  
  
When Gabe looked up at him, he looked so small, and there were tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes, though he didn't let them escape. “I fell, Sam,” he said, so softly that it was nearly a whisper, and suddenly Sam felt anguish lodge itself between his ribs, though he couldn't for the life of him explain it away. He just gazed at Gabe, questioning without words, and Gabe sighed, deeply.  
  
“People question all the time. It's expected. It's normal. But angels...we're built to have faith. It's what we do. I...questioned. I doubted.” Gabe looked up at him, eyes wide and expression pained. “You're better than us, Sam. Better by miles. You can face doubt like it's nothing, but for us...We're so scared of it, it's like a disease. I'm quarantined, Sam. And until I prove I'm not contagious, I can't go back.”  
  
“Can you?” Sam asked. “Prove it?”  
  
Gabe looked pensive, running his fingers through his hair. “There's this law,” he said thoughtfully. “A rule, a...bullet point that's been around for millennia. And it says that any angel who falls gets a chance...just one chance, to make it back.” He turned his head toward Sam, gauging his reaction before continuing: “See, when I was cast out, I lost all of my power, except just enough for a few...miracles. Three, to be exact. Three miracles. That's all I get.”  
  
Gabe glanced at Sam's arm, and Sam followed his gaze with his own. “My arm...” he mused. Gabe nodded.  
  
“The first,” he said. “Almost five years I've been here, and that-” He pointed at the arm as Sam brought his hand up to study it. “That's the first one I've used.”  
  
Sam stared at him, disbelieving. “But...why?”  
  
“Because you didn't deserve that, kiddo. You never deserved what those bastards did to you. Not one bit of it. And you don't deserve anything this life has chucked at you either. But even after all of it, after all that shit, all it did was make you kind, sasquatch. And after all that, I'd say you deserve a miracle or two, dontcha think?” Gabe smiled at him, hopefully, but Sam still couldn't return the gesture.  
  
“You said...you only get three,” he said. Gabe nodded. “What happens...when you run out? When you use them all? What happens to you?”  
  
Gabe was silent for a long time – too long, Sam thought, and he scooted closer to him. “Gabe...what happens to you?”  
  
“If I can prove to Heaven that I deserve to come back home...then I do. Once I perform my last miracle, I go back.”  
  
“So you'll leave,” Sam clarified. Gabe just looked away sadly.  
  
Sam drew in a ragged breath. “Don't go.”  
  
“What?” Gabe asked, his expression one of surprise. Sam reached for him, cupping his face in his hands and pulling him close.  
  
“Don't go,” he repeated. “If they kicked you out, left you all alone just because you questioned or doubted or whatever...That doesn't sound like the paradise everyone says Heaven is supposed to be. Why go back to a place like that?”  
  
Gabe reached up, running his fingers along the curve of Sam's wrist. “It's my home, Sam,” he said. Sam squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
“I know...” he sighed. “I know it's awful for me to want you to stay here...”  
  
“Geez, sasquatch...” Gabe said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don't want to leave you either, you know.” Sam opened his eyes, looked him over hesitantly.  
  
“Why'd you do it?” Sam pressed his forehead to Gabe's, just rested there a moment. “Why'd you use up a miracle on my stupid arm. It would have healed. Why did you do it...why did you...”  
  
“Because I'm the reason it happened,” Gabe said. “Me and my shop...this place, it's the only home I've got. You know what it means to me, and you got hurt standing up for it, and for me. How many times do I have to tell you that you deserve this before you'll start believing me?”  
  
“Just...promise me you won't use any more on me, okay?” Sam pleaded. “Promise me, alright?”  
  
“As long as you don't get yourself hurt again,” Gabe said with a chuckle.  
  
Sam forced a smile of his own. “I'll do my best.” Slowly, he leaned forward, tentative because unless this was a very vivid dream – and there was still a lingering voice in the back of Sam's mind that said that it had to be, still – then he was about to kiss a freaking angel, and that had to be at least four different kinds of blasphemous.  
  
“Is this...” he found himself breathing against Gabe's lips, “Is this...okay? You and I...together...is it?”  
  
“You don't really believe those asshole preachers who yell about homosexuality up on their soapboxes, do you?”  
  
“Of course not, but...Gabe...”  
  
“I get what you're asking, sasquatch. I do. And trust me, the powers that be aren't nearly as uptight as the Catholic church would have you believe. All that hate...that's people, not God.”  
  
“Wow...” Sam sighed, and he leaned back.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I just...it's good to hear that, you know?” Gabe's gaze was understanding, and he nodded.  
  
“I bet,” he said.  
  
Sam cocked a crooked smile his way and asked, tentatively, “Still think we're better?”  
  
Gabe's grin spoke volumes. “By a longshot,” he answered, and he closed the distance between them. Sam went still, almost frigid as Gabe’s lips moved gently against his. But Gabe was patient, not pushing, just waiting, until finally, slowly, Sam allowed himself to kiss back.  


* * *

  
The walk home that evening felt like a dream, and by the time Sam stumbled through the door of his and Dean's apartment, he found he could barely remember it save for a few bits and pieces. One minute, he was leaving Gabe's bookstore, his mind spinning, and the next he was home. He dropped his backpack by the door, went to the kitchen sink and splashed some water on his face.  
  
“Late night?” Sam turned just as Dean strode into view. “Lot of work?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam clipped out. “Had to catch up on some stuff.”  
  
And I found out that Gabe is actually a fallen angel, so there's that.  
  
It sounded so utterly insane to him, and he wondered what Dean would say if he found out. Probably exactly what he'd been saying to himself since he'd first heard the truth: that he was crazy, that he'd lost it, that this couldn't be reality. So he kept his mouth shut, but then Dean's brow furrowed.  
  
“Dude,” he said, stepping toward Sam and squinting. “What happened to your cast, man?”  
  
Shit.  
  
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.  
  
“I...” He stuttered and stumbled, glancing at his own arm and scratching the back of his neck. He couldn't tell Dean the truth; there was no telling what would happen if he did, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to convince Dean. That was a whole can of worms that he really didn't want to open. So he improvised.  
  
“There was some kind of a...mixup at the clinic. Something about the x-ray being screwed. Turns out it's not actually broken.” He tried to laugh, to pass it off as a weird accident that could happen to anyone. Dean blinked. Something in his gut told Sam that he was being utterly unconvincing.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Dean scoffed. He ran an irate hand through his short hair. “Son of a bitch! Those assholes don't even know what the hell they're doing!”  
  
Sam breathed an inward sigh of relief. It was a crap story, but it had done the job for the moment, and that was all he could ask for.  
  
“Yeah, well at least I don't have to have the damn thing on my arm for six weeks, you know?”  
  
“Maybe, but we're going to a real hospital next time. Patient First can kiss my ass.”  
  
“I'm hoping there's not going to be a 'next time,' Dean,” Sam pointed out.  
  
“Yeah, same,” Dean agreed. But he still didn't look like he was finished analyzing the situation. He gave Sam a long once-over, looking unsettled. “You okay?”  
  
“What? Yeah.”  
  
“You look like you're about to puke or something.”  
  
Did he? Honestly, that didn't surprise him much.  
  
“I'm fine,” he said, and he grabbed his backpack. The words that had been clambering around inside his head continued to bang against the insides of his skull, louder and louder: Gabe is an angel, Gabe is an angel, he's an angel, angel, angel, angel, angel.  
  
' _Angels are watching over you, Sammy._ '  
  
He froze.

' _Mom told me that. When I was scared. She said angels are watching over us._ '

Dean.  
  
Suddenly, he was five, having rushed to his brother's bed after a nightmare filled with fire and blood and screams, and Dean was holding him close because their dad couldn't. Suddenly he was crying into his big brother's shirt in the middle of the night, Dean soothing him through his soft, hitching sobs. Suddenly he was falling asleep on his brother's shoulder with the words that he wondered if he'd ever truly believed at all echoing through his head: Angels are watching over you.  
  
“Sammy?”  
  
Dean's real voice, much deeper and rougher now than it had been in Sam's head, cut through the fog, and Sam started. “Man, what's going on with you? Did something happen or what?”  
  
“No, I...I just need to study, Dean.” He pulled away, stalked toward his room.  
  
Dean's hand on his shoulder stopped him: “Hey,” his brother barked. “Just hold up a minute, okay? Dude, you can talk to me. What's going on? Is this about what those assholes did to Gabe's shop? Because they're idiots, Sam. You know that-”  
  
“Yes, I know that, Dean!” Sam snapped, pushing his brother away. “Of course I know that! I'm not five, Dean. I don't need you to baby me!”  
  
He tried to pull back again, but Dean pushed him against the wall, his hands twisting in Sam's shirt. “I'm not babying you, you hear me?” he barked. “I'm your big brother, dammit, and when something's eating at you, I can tell. I've seen stuff eat away at people from the inside, you know I have. And I've felt it too. And I'm not letting that happen to you, Sammy, not in a million years. The day I do is the day I've failed as a big brother, you got it?” Dean's voice was raspy and wrecked by the time he finally fell silent, his grip on Sam's shirt going slack. He rested his palms against Sam's chest.  
  
“Sorry, man,” he said. “Sorry...look, I just...I don't like feeling like you don't think you can talk to me, you know? Cause you can...”  
  
“I know, Dean,” Sam sighed. He let out a long breath, staring down at the carpet.  
  
He couldn't tell Dean the truth, or at least not the whole truth. But he could tell him part of the truth.  
  
“I guess I just...what they did...it doesn't really go away, you know? I keep trying to make it not hurt, but it still does.”  
  
“I know it does,” Dean said, leaning against the wall beside Sam, his hands clasped behind his head. “And you know I would have slammed them both into the pavement if I'd been there.”  
  
“I know you would have,” Sam said, and surprisingly, he chuckled a bit as he spoke. Both of them glanced up at the clock at about the same moment, and Dean sighed. “Late shift?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Look, Sam...I can be late. I can call in sick. If you need to talk-”  
  
“No, Dean, it's fine. I'm fine.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean relented. He pushed off the wall and went to get dressed. “You okay to cook your own spaghetti-O's tonight, little brother?”  
  
“Yeah, I'm good.”  
  
“Put in a movie, dude. Call your boyfriend. Hell, have him come over. It's a Friday night for Christ's sake. I won't be back until late anyway, and I promise I won't interrupt anything.” Sam did smile at that.  
  
“I think I'll just stick with the movie,” he said. “I'm kinda tired...besides, I got a paper I have to finish by next Tuesday.”  
  
“My brother, the nerd,” Dean teased.  
  
“Almost a college educated nerd, or do I need to remind you?”  
  
Dean punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You never let me forget it, Sammy.”  
  
When Dean had left for the night, Sam did put in a movie, but he didn't watch it. How could he concentrate on _Thor_ when the knowledge of what Gabe was, of what he'd done for him, kept rattling around in his brain? Still, even though he couldn't quite wrap his head around it, as the information settled and calmed like water in a glass, there was part of him that was soothed by it rather than riled up.  
  
It was as if part of him had known for a long time.  
  
That night, Sam crawled into bed early, lying awake as his thoughts buzzed in his mind like a hive of angry bees, and finally, when he was exhausted from turning it over and over in his brain so endlessly, he closed his eyes and didn't sleep, but prayed for the first time in nearly ten years.


	7. Chapter 7

It was Sunday by the time Sam went back to the shop, and there was a sharp November chill in the air. Something weighed him down as he walked, his feet dragging in a way they never had when he'd gone there before. He paused across the street, looking in through the front window.  
  
The days were getting shorter as winter moved in, and the sun was just starting to set, turning the sky a light pinkish-gray, but the interior of the shop, as always, glowed warmly. Gabe was tending an unusually long line of customers, smiling as he handed them change and put their purchases in bags, but Sam couldn't help but think he looked more tired, more worn than usual. He wondered if it had anything to do with him and his arm, and that damn miracle, and the thought made him frown.  
  
 _That's an angel,_  his mind reminded him as he stared at Gabe. _That's an honest-to-God angel handing that guy change for a twenty_. It didn't click in his mind, something about it so damn hard to comprehend that he could do nothing but stare dumbly until he wasn't even seeing what was in front of him anymore. He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there like a befuddled statue until he heard his name called, and he snapped himself out of the trance he'd let his frazzled mind sink into.  
  
Gabe was leaning against the door frame of the shop, arms crossed, eyebrow quirked. “You want to come in or are you just gonna stand there like an idiot?” he called.  
  
When Sam didn't answer him, Gabe rolled his eyes and strode across the street, arms wrapped tight around his chest in a half-hearted attempt to fend off the chill. “Hey,” he said, softly. Sam blinked at him. “You alright?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam forced out, his own voice far raspier and more exhausted than he wanted to admit. “Yeah, I just...” He shrugged. “You looked busy is all. Didn't want to bother you.”  
  
“Since when are you ever bothering me, sasquatch?” Gabe asked fondly, smiling up at him. The expression faltered a bit when Sam failed to meet his gaze, and he glanced down at the sidewalk. “You know, honestly, I was kind of wondering if you were even gonna come back at all.”  
  
“Honestly,” Sam replied, “I kind of wondered if I was too.” Gabe looked up at him, his expression unreadable, but Sam found himself smiling, albeit tentatively. “But I mean, who am I kidding, right?”  
  
“Just couldn't stay away, huh?” Gabe joked. Sam didn't reply, but let out a shy, breathy chuckle. “Look, come inside will you? I'm freezing my nuts off out here.”  
  
Sam still didn't quite feel like he was all there, like there was something more that needed to be said that he couldn't quite grasp, but he followed Gabe nonetheless. Gabe poked his head into the shop for just a moment, only long enough to turn off the lights before locking the door and heading toward the stairs that led to the second level of the building.  
  
“You closing up already?” Sam asked absently.  
  
“It's Sunday,” Gabe reminded him. “And I'm beat anyway. Good thing about being self-employed, Sam. You set your own schedule. Just come on before I get frostbite, will ya?”  
  
“Gabe.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs, Gabe a few steps up, and the words left his mouth before his brain had caught up: “This...us...it's crazy, isn't it?”  
  
“I thought we'd already settled the fact that I like crazy,” Gabe reminded him hopefully.  
  
“You said yourself there's good crazy and bad crazy. And I haven't really decided...what kind this is yet.” Sam let out a breathy laugh, and it felt like all the air rushed from his lungs at once, leaving a vacuum in his chest. “I mean you...you're an _angel_ , Gabe-” He cut himself off, the words feeling like a punch to the gut despite the fact that they'd come from his own mouth. Gabe didn't so much as flinch at them, but stared as Sam lowered himself onto the third step, folding his hands between his knees.  
  
Behind him, Sam heard Gabe's sigh, the scuff of his shoes on the stairs as he ascended, and the creak of the door. He turned and looked just as the door was swinging closed again, and he pressed his lips together, a heavy, cold weight settling in his gut. He was just about to get up and leave – frowning at the realization that he'd somehow driven Gabe away without so much as a word from him – when the door opened once again, and Gabe reappeared, a heavy blanket draped over his arms.  
  
“If you're gonna make me sit out in the cold,” he said as he sat beside Sam, “I'm at least gonna try and avoid losing any limbs to Jack Frost.” He didn't say anything more; he simply sat, allowing their thighs to brush together through denim and polyester-cotton blend. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, gripping it tight, covering himself above the waist until he stopped shivering.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Sam found himself saying.  
  
Gabe shrugged. “You apologize too much.”  
  
“Trust me, I know,” Sam said bitterly. “It's just a lot to take in, you know? That your...boyfriend is an angel.”  
  
“Oh, so I'm your boyfriend now?” Gabe teased, and Sam fought back a blush.  
  
“Thought so.”  
  
“I think I can deal with that.”  
  
“Well that's exactly what I'm having trouble with,” Sam said. He waited a moment before clarifying: “Processing. I mean, until the other day I was an atheist. I haven't set foot in a church since I can't even remember when...” He looked down, staring at his fingernails.  
  
“What, you think I'm gonna judge you or something?”  
  
“No,” Sam huffed, “But it's just hard to go from that to finding out that it's all real, that there's a God.”  
  
“Yeah, well...” Gabe let out a long sigh, and he seemed, for a moment at least, to be at a loss for words, so he simply unfolded the blanket, wrapped it around Sam's shoulders and leaned against him. The warmth was welcome, and it spread down Sam's arms and across his chest. “To be honest, sasquatch, the church gets a lot more wrong than it gets right.”  
  
“You know, the way you described Heaven, it doesn't really sound like it.” The silence that followed stretched on, broken only when a car rolled by on the street before them. “Why would you want to go back to a place like that, anyway? To a place that would kick you to the curb just for questioning something?”  
  
“I told you,” Gabe said, looking forlorn. “It's home.”  
  
“And if you go back, what? Are you just gonna turn into some emotionless robot or something?”  
  
“I don't _know_ , okay?” Gabe snapped, running his hands through his hair and setting his jaw. His nostrils flared in anger as he breathed in a harsh, stuttering rhythm. “Sorry...sorry. I don't know. I just don't know. I don't even know if I can get back.”  
  
“But...you said, once you performed three miracles-”  
  
“That's _if_ I prove myself worthy. If I don't...if I use up my power on something selfish or wrong...” Gabe fell silent, and it made Sam very uneasy very quickly.  
  
“What?” he probed. “Gabe, what?”  
  
Gabe pulled the blanket closer to his body, hunching his shoulders. He looked so small. “Once my power is used up, that's it. And if I don't do enough to get back home, I just...fade away. Burn up, like a used battery.”  
  
“You'll die,” Sam said, his voice barely there, and it was a statement, not a question. Gabe nodded silently. “Jesus, Gabe...”  
  
Sam wasn't sure if Gabe's terse laugh made him feel better or worse.  
  
“Thing is...” Gabe began, tentatively, staring down at the sidewalk, “I don't have a time limit, Sam. I can wait as long as I want to use them. But I will have to use them, sooner or later...And if I have to choose in the end between going home and complete and utter nonexistence, I think I'd choose the former.”  
  
“But you can wait?” Sam asked, daring to inject just a bit of hope into the question. Gabe smiled, and although it was obviously at least somewhat forced, it soothed the ache in Sam's chest, if only a tiny bit.  
  
“I can wait,” Gabe said. “For you to process, or whatever the hell it is you're doing.”  
  
They were silent for a while longer until Sam let out a shy chuckle, and Gabe cocked an eyebrow at him. “I hope you don't think this means I'm gonna start going to church on Sunday mornings,” he said.  
  
“Oh hell no,” Gabe scoffed. “I'm not either. I like to sleep in on my weekends.”

* * *

  
Days passed, turned into weeks, and Thanksgiving came and went without incident. Dean and Sam celebrated in their usual way, substituting the traditional turkey dinner with their own traditional rotisserie chicken and a case of good beer, which they shared as they yelled at the football game on TV. Dean rooted for the Patriots; Sam cheered on the Jets just to irk him, and when the Patriots destroyed the opposing team, Dean threw chicken bones at him as part of his victory dance.  
  
Suddenly, it was December, and Sam's fall semester finals were lurking just around the corner. Sam couldn't shake the image of a hungry dragon awaiting a brave knight to challenge it on the battlefield. Maybe he needed to lay off the medieval fantasy novels – not that he had much time to read for pleasure between study sessions.  
  
He was practically a zombie when he trudged into Gabe's shop the Friday evening before finals week began. Gabe had his back to him, stretching magnificently as he tried to hang tinsel on the top of the highest shelf. The step stool beneath his feet wobbled treacherously, and he didn't turn to face Sam as he called out in a strained voice, “Be with you in just a minute!”  
  
Sam allowed himself a small chuckle. “You know, that might be easier for someone who isn't quite as vertically challenged.”  
  
Finally, Gabe turned, and he glared. “Are you calling me short?” he asked icily over his shoulder.  
  
“Do you want a hand or not?” Sam asked as he set his backpack down by the counter and went over to Gabe, who was still struggling with the decoration. Sam took a moment to look around the rest of the shop, which was already rather impressively decorated to a degree: a string of colorful lights criss-crossed over the front of the counter, over the famous quotes that were plastered on its surface; a few paper snowflakes hung from the rafters – for the life of him, Sam had no idea how Gabe had managed to get those up there; fake frost sparked in the corners of the front windows.  
  
“Place already looks pretty good,” Sam commented. Gabe stepped down from the step-stool and glanced up at him, putting his hands on his hips.  
  
“I like to be festive,” he said, and he handed Sam the silver tinsel. “Have at it.” Sam got up on the stool and hung the tinsel with ease as Gabe leaned against the counter. “You look exhausted. School running you ragged?”  
  
“Finals,” Sam said over his shoulder as he straightened out a kink in the tinsel strand. “They start next week. I've been studying my ass off.”  
  
Gabe hummed in acknowledgment. “You'll do fine,” he assured Sam.  
  
Sam chuckled. “I'm not worried about my major classes. It's this damn literature class that's bugging me...” He hopped down from the stool and moved it over with a light kick so that he could get at the next section of shelf.  
  
“Oh the irony!” Gabe exclaimed playfully. “You spend way too much time than should be healthy in this bookstore and you're worried about your grade in a literature class?”  
  
“You spent more time here than me,” Sam pointed out.  
  
“I work here. Heck, I _live_ here!”  
  
Sam sighed. “Point taken.”  
  
“You know, if you need help studying, I'd be more than happy to lend a hand. I do tend to know the stuff, you know.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sure. Why not?”  
  
Twenty minutes later, Gabe had a copy of _As I Lay Dying_ open on the counter, and he was leaning over it, balancing his wire-rimmed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and glancing over at Sam every so often. Sam, meanwhile was working the remaining tinsel around the shelves in the store. They'd had extra, and Sam liked keeping his hands busy while he studied.  
  
“Okay, so,” Gabe began, “Addie Bundren has how many kids?”  
  
“Four,” Sam said, and then corrected himself: “No, five, if you're counting Jewel. Darl, Vardaman, Cash, and Dewey Dell.”  
  
“Poor kids,” Gabe commented. “Names like that, I bet they got beat up on the playground a lot. Right, who's Jewel's father, then?”  
  
“The minister. Ah...” Sam snapped his fingers a few times, trying to get the name to come to him. “Whitfield.”  
  
Gabe flipped through the book, chewing on the tip of his thumb, and suddenly he furrowed his brow. “What's with the fish thing?”  
  
“You think that'll be an essay question?” Sam asked with a chuckle.  
  
“Is that the whole chapter?” Gabe flipped the page back and forth a few times, as if it was hiding something that he could find if he just squinted hard enough.  
  
“What?”  
  
“'My mother is a fish.' What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
“He killed a fish right before his mother died. Figured the two were connected somehow.”  
  
“Well that's just stupid! If I squish a spider and some guy gets run over by a bus down the block, should I blame myself?”  
  
“It's symbolism,” Sam said. Gabe closed the book.  
  
“Yeah well you seem to get it just fine,” he said. He went over to Sam, wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and rested his forehead against the curve of his spine. “M'bored.”  
  
“ _You're_ bored?” Sam scoffed. “I've been studying this all day!”  
  
“Exactly, you don't need my help!”  
  
“You're the one who offered.”  
  
“Yeah, but I'm tired. It's a slow day.”  
  
“Let me just finish this,” Sam said, forcing down a laugh as he reached out to finish hanging the decorations. “You don't have to keep talking about those books if you don't want to.” Gabe pulled back, letting his hands slip from Sam's waist with a sigh.  
  
Sam glanced up at the rafters, at the snowflakes dangling there, and then shifted his gaze out the window; the sky was tinted pink with the sunset, and the clouds above where thick and heavy, blanketing nearly the entire sky. It seemed to warn of snow, and Sam quirked a grin. “Almost looks like it's gonna snow out there,” he commented.  
  
“Is this what we've been reduced to?” asked Gabe as he sauntered back over to the counter. “Talking about the weather?”  
  
“Would that be a trip, though? I mean, a white Christmas?” He laughed wryly. “Geez, I can't remember the last time that happened. Actually...actually I do. I think I must've been...I don't know, maybe three or four. It was right after my mom died. First time I saw any real snow. My dad, he...he still wasn't really all there, you know? I think he forced himself to seem happier on Christmas, for us. But it made him happy, really happy.”  
  
“All that from a little snow?” Gabe questioned.  
  
“Snow on _Christmas_. It's...different. You know, like the song.”  
  
“Aww, sasquatch!” Gabe crooned. “You really are a poet at heart, aren't you?”  
  
“Not really,” Sam mumbled in response, still staring at the tinsel.  
  
“Yeah, well who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky this year.” Gabe almost seemed to be talking to someone else rather than to him, like he was drifting into a sort of trance, but Sam didn't pay it any mind. He went over the names of the Bundren children once or twice more in his head.  
  
About a minute passed before Gabe commented with a whine that it was too quiet in the shop, and he started typing on his computer, sorting through his iTunes playlist until he found something he liked. Sam was expecting Christmas music, but what he got instead was something completely different.  
  
“Florence and the Machine?” he asked.  
  
Gabe shrugged. “I promised I would play some for you, didn't I?” Sam hummed in agreement, remembering the day Gabe had made that promise. He'd forgotten about it, but as _All This And Heaven Too_ drifted energetically through the shop, Gabe tilted his head back and closed his eyes in contentment. The fading light from the setting sun outside the window framed his head, playing in his golden-tinted hair almost like a halo, and the smallest of smiles played at Gabe's lips.  
  
Sam reached to pin up the last of the tinsel before leaning against the bookshelf, and he turned, looked over at Gabe, and kept on looking far longer than was socially acceptable. But Gabe didn't care; Gabe couldn't see him with his eyes still lightly shut and his head canted upward toward the heavens. Sam blinked away the glare of the sun, and suddenly – like the complex cocktail of emotion had been waiting curled in his belly to spring up since the day he'd first stumbled in, bloody and woozy – Sam fell in love with an angel.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone! And thank you to everyone who's left feedback...I'm bad about replying, but rest assured I see and appreciate every comment I get. :)

“I propose a toast!” Dean chimed from the other side of the kitchen counter. He grinned at his younger brother as he raised his arm, a glass of eggnog clasped in his hand. “To Mister Dean's List for managing to not fail out of school for yet another semester.”  
  
“Just one more to go,” Sam breathed, bringing his glass forward to tap the rim against Dean's. “Kinda weird to think about.”  
  
“Yeah, well your scholarship's still holding. You're all paid up for the rest of your college career, little bro.”  
  
“Can't complain about that.”  
  
“No you cannot,” Dean brought his glass to his lips and took a hearty sip. Sam mirrored his actions, but sputtered when he did, the burn of alcohol taking him surprise. “Too much kick?” Dean asked.  
  
“No, just-” Sam coughed. “Just wasn't expecting a kick at all. Dude, it's like two in the afternoon.”  
  
“It's Christmas!” Sam nodded in acknowledgment, but put his glass down on the counter. Dean shrugged and took another swig of his.  
  
Christmas morning hadn't been much of a morning, but then again, it never really had been with the two of them. Dean made a point to sleep past noon almost every year; there was no rush. Christmas was an easy day for them, relaxed and laid back with no pressure attached. Sam couldn't complain about that; in fact, he'd slept nearly as long as Dean that morning, after waking up at first and glancing outside to see a heavy blanket of clouds above to accompany the chill in the apartment. He'd curled up beneath his blankets and slept away the morning hours until his growling stomach had woken him again.  
  
“What time is your better half getting here?” Dean asked, leaning on the counter.  
  
“Not until four. You don't mind, right?”  
  
“Course not!” Dean assured him with a good-natured shrug. “Means I have to spend less of my Christmas staring at your ugly mug anyway.” He shot Sam a megawatt grin, and Sam punched him in the shoulder.  


* * *

  
Sam didn't actually change out of his sweatpants and ratty T-shirt until nearly three-thirty, and he was just fiddling with his iPod on the dock by the TV and queuing up the Christmas music – Michael Buble's Christmas album – when a knock on the door made him look up.  
  
“Got it,” Dean called, already in the kitchen.  
  
Gabe was bundled in at least three layers of warm clothing, including a thick scarf wrapped tight around his neck and mittens on his hands. He had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and he was shivering even as he grinned up at Dean from beneath a fluffy santa hat. “Evening, Dean-o,” he greeted through chattering teeth.  
  
“Same to you, Santa Gabey,” Dean said good-naturedly as he strode away from the door back into the kitchen, letting Gabe slip past him and into the apartment.  
  
“Did you _walk_ here?” Sam asked as he watched Gabe slip off his mittens and blow into his palms to warm them. Sam took Gabe's boney hands in his own, waiting for the chilled flesh to warm up under his skin.  
  
“I don't have a car, you know. It's no biggie.”  
  
“I could have come and gotten you.”  
  
“Aw please. A little cold never killed anyone. 'Sides, now I have an excuse to stay close to you, sasquatch.” He pressed close against Sam, letting his messenger bag drop onto the floor. “You're like my own personal space heater. Merry Christmas by the way.”  
  
Dean was leaning against the counter, watching them with a teasing smile on his lips, looking as if he was seconds away from making a joke. Sam shot him a look to cut him off.  
  
“You guys are just too damn cute,” he said anyway. He reached up to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye. “I'm getting all choked up.”  
  
“Quit it, would you?” Sam said, though he smiled as he did.  
  
Gabe pulled away, peeling off his layers of clothing as he stopped shivering until he was down to his festive Christmas sweater: it was a deep red color, white reindeer frolicking across his front and back. He draped his coats and scarf over the arm of the couch in the living room - leaving the santa hat in place on his head - and approached the modest Christmas tree that sat in the corner, the lights that had been haphazardly threaded between its evergreen limbs flickering lazily.  
  
“You really went all out on the Christmas decorations, didn't you?” he said, a joking edge to his voice.  
  
“We're not really big on the tinsel and popcorn strings, I admit,” Sam replied.  
  
“But we make up for it with our boundless holiday spirit,” Dean offered, raising yet another full glass of eggnog in their direction.  
  
“You better not pass out on the couch before dinner,” Sam warned.  
  
“This is only my second glass, smart-ass.”  
  
Gabe, meanwhile, was grabbing his bag and carrying it over to the couch. “I almost forgot,” he said, ignoring the brothers' bickering. “I gave into the shameless commercialization of the season and brought a couple of things.” After a little bit of digging in his bag, he drew out two pristinely wrapped presents and put them under the tree with the three other packages that already rested there.  
  
“It better not be socks,” said Dean.  
  
“Course it's not socks!” Gabe replied. “It's underwear. Sparkly satin underwear with candy canes and gingerbread men on 'em. Or at least that's what I got Sam.” He winked up at Sam while Dean tried valiantly to hide the fact that he'd choked on his eggnog.  
  
Sam chuckled lightly, but frowned when Gabe winced, bringing a hand to his forehead. “You okay?” he asked.  
  
“Just a headache,” Gabe said. “Think I'm just getting acclimated after freezing my balls off out there. It's fine.” To prove his point, he smiled up at Sam.  
  
“You want me to get you some water or something?” Sam asked, but Gabe shook his head and patted him on the shoulder.  
  
“I'll just help myself if you and your big bro don't mind,” he said, pushing up on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on Sam's lips. “'Sides, I want you to get to your gifts anyway. Both of you.” He slipped past Sam, heading for the kitchen. Sam turned, caught a glimpse of the window and gasped. Both Dean and Gabe turned to look as he rushed toward it.  
  
“Oh my god,” he breathed, a grin spreading on his face. Outside, snow fell in thick drifts, covering the world in a blanket of sparkling white.  


* * *

  
Sam was, for all intents and purposes, content.  
  
The sunlight had faded outside, and Sam had dragged the couch closer to the window. He was curled up on it with a blanket around his calves, Gabe pressed against his side. His arms wrapped so easily around Gabe's small body, holding him close so that he could feel every slow breath against his own ribs. They watched the snow in silence.  
  
“Aww,” Dean crooned teasingly from behind them. “You guys are so cute.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said fondly, even as he grinned.  
  
“Nah, I mean it. You guys are just damn adorable. I think I might puke.”  
  
“That's sweet of you, Dean.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
As Dean headed toward the kitchen, he jokingly mumbled, “Wish I had someone to cuddle with.”  
  
“You're welcome to join us, Dean-o,” Gabe offered with a sly smirk. Sam pursed his lips, because no, Dean was most certainly _not_.  
  
“I'll leave you two lovebirds alone, thanks,” Dean chuckled. “Gotta put the pizza in the oven anyway.”  
  
“Need a hand?” Sam offered.  
  
“I think I can handle it.” Dean put the pizza on the counter and started heating up the oven, calling over his shoulder, “You keep your boyfriend warm.”  
  
Gabe was silent a moment before asking, “So, Christmas pizza, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said with a fond grin, scratching the back of his neck. “I know it's a little weird. We never really did the whole turkey dinner thing, you know? Not for a long time anyway...But it's sort of become our own little tradition.” He laughed. “Pizza dinner on Christmas night, and plenty of eggnog to go around.”  
  
Sam remembered for a moment the year they'd both gotten drunk and watched _A Christmas Story_ three times through, falling asleep on the couch by midnight. It had been an odd sort of bonding experience, as had the mutual hangover that had followed the next morning.  
  
“Sounds like a tradition I can get behind,” Gabe said. He pressed closer, watching the snow for a bit longer before yawning.  
  
“You alright?” Sam asked, concern roiling in his belly again.  
  
“Fine,” Gabe assured him. “Headache's gone. Just tired is all.”  
  
Sam nudged him. “Stay here for the night.” Gabe looked scandalized.  
  
“Oh, Sam,” he breathed in mock surprise. “I could never impose.”  
  
“Hey, I invited you, remember? And you walked all the way over in the cold anyway. With the weather like it is, you might as well stay, have a few drinks, and crash here for the night.”  
  
Gabe pondered it a moment, humming _Baby It's Cold Outside_ along with the voices of Michael Buble and Anne Murray as they floated through the living room, and then he asked, “Did you get a bigger bed?”  
  
“I'm working on it.”  
  
Gabe made a noncommittal sound, but Sam knew it meant yes anyway, and neither of them made any effort to move. Several minutes passed, and the smell of pizza started to waft through the apartment.    
  
“I can't believe it's actually snowing,” Sam mused.  
  
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “Seems kinda perfect, doesn't it? White Christmas and all.”  
  
“Perfect's not really a word I use, but I guess you could call it close.”  
  
“You guys are seriously gonna make me throw up,” Dean said, and Sam jumped, turning around to glare at his brother who was hovering just behind them, leaning on the back of the couch.  
  
“ _Dean!_ ”  
  
“Come on!” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Pizza's ready. Hurry up.”  


* * *

  
A few hours later, the pizza was gone, the snow was still showing no signs of stopping outside, and all three of their glasses stayed full of eggnog. Sam had no qualms now about the added kick to it, and neither did Gabe, whose cheeks were rather rosy as he handed Sam a heavy, box-shaped package wrapped in green paper.  
  
Dean was still studying the new sleek black watch Gabe had given him as Sam stared down at the gift in his lap. “You gonna open it or not?” Gabe asked. He leaned forward, hanging off of Sam's shoulder. Sam smiled and nodded, pulling off the silver bow and placing it on top of the pair of new jeans he'd gotten from Dean – the brothers' gifts to each other were rarely frilly or sentimental and more often practical things that they could get real use out of, barring the occasional gag gift that Dean was more fond of than Sam. As he pulled back the paper and let it flutter to the carpeted floor, he held up the book in equal parts curiosity and excitement.  
  
“A book of short stories?” Sam asked. Dean let out a questioning hum.  
  
“Short stories?” he repeated.  
  
“Short stories _and_ poetry!” Gabe pointed out with a grin. “Figured you might like it, sasquatch. Course, if you don't, you can always exchange it for something else. I wouldn't mind.”  
  
“No, I like it,” Sam assured him. The book was thick and heavy, its pages shimmering silver around the edges, and its cover a deep navy blue and ornately decorated. It was a beautiful book, for starters, and he thumbed through its contents, skimming through the first short story he found: _Barrington Bunny_. After glancing over some of the words and sentences that caught his eye, he closed the book again.  
  
“That's one of my favorites,” said Gabe, pointing to catch his finger between the pages and stopping Sam from closing the book entirely. “That one right there. _Barrington Bunny_. It's kinda sad...actually it's really sad, so I wouldn't read it unless you have tissues nearby.”  
  
“Can't be _that_ sad,” Dean said, swallowing back a healthy portion of his eggnog.  
  
Sam grasped the silk bookmark attached to the book's spine and marked the page. “I'll read it later,” he promised, “With tissues.”  
  
“Yeah, you better,” Gabe said, also polishing off his own drink. “Because when I read that the first time I bawled like a little baby.”  
  
“It can't be _that sad!_ ” Dean repeated, a bit louder.  
  
Gabe ignored him. “Top me off, wouldja, Dean-o?” he asked.  


* * *

  
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean griped later that evening, “Your boyfriend is a lightweight.”  
  
“I am not a lightweight!” Gabe slurred even as he leaned down and curled up with his head in Sam's lap. Sam had to take the half-full glass of eggnog from his fingers before he let it spill all over the carpet. “I'm not that drunk even.”  
  
“You're drunk, Gabe,” Sam assured him with a laugh. “Trust me.”  
  
“Mmmffh,” Gabe said.  
  
“C'mon.” Sam stood, fighting off a bit of wooziness himself as he let Gabe sling an arm around his shoulders and hoisted his small frame up off the couch.  
  
“I'm really not that drunk, Samsquatch,” Gabe said as Sam led him toward his bedroom and Dean snickered behind them. “Okay, maybe I am, but...alright, yeah I am. It was good eggnog though. Really good. And good pizza too. Yummy.”  
  
Sam chuckled. “Let's just get you in bed. You can tell me more about it in the morning.”  
  
As Sam sat him down on the edge of his bed, Gabe got a wicked smirk on his face and hooked a hand around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him down with him until Sam cried out and toppled over on top of him. Gabe laughed heartily. “I'd rather you stay with me,” Gabe said. “Preferably naked.”  
  
“Gabe, you're drunk,” Sam said, though the smile still hadn't faded from his face. “Besides, my brother's right in the next room.”  
  
“We can be quiet.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Gabe.”  
  
“I don't wanna sleep.”  
  
Sam hoisted himself up, and Gabe didn't fight him; though Sam was relatively sure he could have even if he had wanted to. “Geez, for an angel, you're pretty whiny.”  
  
Gabe might have tried to flip him off from under the covers, but it was a half-hearted attempt if it was one at all, and he started snoring in the middle of it, drooling on the pillow.  


* * *

  
Sam was nearly falling asleep himself as he propped his feet up on the window sill, leaning back into the stiff couch cushions and watching the snow. Dean joined him a moment later, sitting beside him and opening a water bottle. He handed one to Sam as well, and Sam took it, sipping gingerly.  
  
“Not a bad Christmas,” Dean said.  
  
“Nope,” agreed Sam. They sipped in sync.  
  
“Even if your boyfriend can't hold his eggnog.”  
  
Sam did laugh at that. “He's not exactly a big guy. He can't help it.”  
  
“Nah, it's fine.”  
  
They were silent a moment before Sam asked, tentatively, “And you didn't mind? You know, having him here?”  
  
“Oh come on, Sammy. I told you already, it's fine. He's a good guy, and you know I haven't seen you this happy in a long time.”  
  
“Really?” Sam asked, because at first, it was news to him. He hadn't thought about it much, but he supposed now that it was true. Gabe did make him happy. It was as simple as that, but a heavy weight pressed down in his stomach when he realized it was also endlessly complicated. He'd gone and fallen in love, which was dangerous enough, but more than that, he'd gone and fallen in love with a damn angel, who could disappear into nothing at any second if his power ran out. He pushed that thought away, because it made him feel like he'd just chugged back a gallon of ice water.  
  
“Yeah, really,” Dean continued even as Sam pondered. “Dude, I'm happy for you. You know that, right?”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And if Dad were here, or...or Mom...” Dean took a breath, and Sam stared at him. Dean rarely brought up Dad, and never, _ever_ , brought up Mom. “They would be too,” Dean finished.  
  
The more Sam thought about it, the more he wondered if his father really would be. Their dad had always loved them, fiercely, even when he'd made mistakes and even when he hadn't been able to show it. Part of Sam was relieved that he'd never had to deal with talking to dad about the path his life had taken, but part of him always wondered and regretted that he'd never gotten the chance to find out. He felt like he'd kept something vital from their father, even though he couldn't have possibly made things turn out any differently. He'd done nothing wrong, but guilt was a stubborn thing, and it didn't like to listen to reason much of the time.  
  
“I think you might be right,” he found himself saying, and the words surprised even himself, as well as Dean, it seemed. Sam nodded, affirming what he'd said, forcing himself to believe it.  
  
“I know I'm right,” Dean said. “I'm the big brother. I'm always right.” Dean grinned and Sam chuckled, a shy, breathy sound. They turned and watched the snow.  
  
“Can't remember the last time it actually snowed on Christmas,” said Dean after a while. “Do you?”  
  
“Dunno,” Sam said. “I was little.”  
  
“Yeah, you were...” Suddenly, Dean laughed. “I remember! Dad bundled you all up and took you outside. You stepped off the porch and disappeared!” Sam broke into a wide grin of his own at Dean's cackling, and as Dean wiped a tear from his eye, he said, “Don't think you could pull that off now. Not unless we had one monster of a snowstorm.”  
  
“At least I won't go missing,” Sam offered.  
  
“You'd have to try pretty damn hard, Sammy.” Dean nudged him in the arm, a half-hearted attempt at horseplay, and he fell silent. “Still...an honest to God white Christmas. Never thought I'd actually see it.” He hummed thoughtfully, and then said, “Kind of like a real Christmas miracle.”  
  
Sam's smile faded as realization dawned.  


* * *

  
It was late when Sam snuck back into his bedroom. Dean had retreated to his own bed, and was snoring loud enough to rattle the walls. Gabe, unsurprisingly, had curled up in his blanket cocoon again, wrapped up tightly in Sam's sheets and comforter. Hesitantly, Sam reached out, shaking Gabe by the shoulder.  
  
“Gabe,” he called, softly at first, and then with more intensity: “ _Gabe._ ”  
  
“Mmmwhat?” Gabe groaned from beneath the blankets. “Whadoyouwant?”  
  
“Gabe...” Sam knelt down to eye level, on his knees on the carpet. “I need you to tell me something.”  
  
“An' then I c'n go back to sleep?”  
  
“The snow...Gabe, was that...was that you?”  
  
“Eeyup,” Gabe confirmed, and he began to grin. “All little old me. You should've seen your face, Samsquatch.”  
  
“You used one of your miracles...” It was not a question, but a sober statement.  
  
“Just one,” Gabe said. “Just one little one.”  
  
“That only leaves you with one. Gabe-”  
  
“Sam!” Gabe reached out, pressing his palm against the side of Sam's head. “I still got one, remember? Still got one...not gonna use it for a good long time.”  
  
“But why did you...”  
  
“Why'd I what?”  
  
Sam sighed. “Why did you use it on something so meaningless?”  
  
Gabe seemed to sober up a bit at that, his eyes darkening. “Not meaningless,” he said. “I told you, you should've seen your face. How happy you were. I keep telling you that you deserve it, Sam. Don't you think you and your big brother deserve a white Christmas?”  
  
“Not if it means you...” Sam couldn't finish that sentence. “Gabe, just promise me...Promise me you won't use your last one on me. Promise me, Gabe.”  
  
“You think I want to leave?” Gabe asked. “I'm not gonna, Sam...Trust me...M'not gonna...” His eyes slid closed again, and he was snoring before Sam could say anything more.  
  
Sam got up, and was about to head to the couch, but he looked back at Gabe and sighed, leaving only to grab a spare blanket off the back of the sofa and slipping into bed with him instead. Gabe didn't wake when he did, not even when Sam wrapped one arm around him. Sam's feet poked out from under the blanket, exposed to the chill air, but he ignored it. He pressed his nose between Gabe's shoulder blades and breathed into his back until he fell asleep himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: A Lost Angel by Ellis Parker Butler

"What's your New Year's resolution?" Gabe asked, and Sam looked up at him lazily, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket that rested at his bare hips. Slowly, he began to smile as he asked, "What?"  
  
Gabe shrugged. "Your New Year's resolution. You gotta have one, kiddo." He pulled the covers up over his chest, lying on his side and propping himself up on one elbow, his cheek resting on his open palm. Sam blinked at him sleepily.  
  
"I dunno," he finally said, drawing the corners of his mouth downward and gently shaking his head. "Never really thought about 'em much before. I don't think I've ever made one."  
  
"Don't you think it's about time you did?" Gabe prompted. He pressed a hand against Sam's shoulder with an excited grin.  "Come on, sasquatch. I'll help you."  
  
"I really don't know!" Sam said, chuckling.  
  
"Well it's not that hard. I mean, you obviously don't need to work out more." As he said it, Gabe pulled the sheets up and gazed up and down Sam's body appraisingly, nodding his approval as he fought back a smirk. Sam grabbed the covers and yanked them down again. "Your grades are stellar," Gabe continued thoughtfully. "You get along great with your brother, and you already have an excess of romance in your life." He waggled his eyebrows, and Sam laughed lightly.  
  
"Don't tell my boyfriend, though," he said. "He might get jealous."  
  
"I can keep a secret if you can, sasquatch."  
  
Sam let his head fall back against the mattress, sighing as he did and listening to the soft, distant sound of cars rolling by outside. The light outside had faded, the curtains on the window hiding only the darkness of the evening. Gabe's bedroom was dimly lit, and full of deep, soothing earth tones and hues of reds and rich browns; it kept him at ease, and feeling warm and secure.  
  
Sam watched upside-down as Gabe maneuvered himself around to sit with his back against the headboard, crossing his legs and draping a pillow over his knees as he gently pulled Sam's head up to rest in his lap. He played with Sam's long hair, muttering something about how Sam needed a haircut as Sam mulled over the question of his goals for the year.  
  
"What is it you want to do this year?" Gabe finally asked him, trying to move the thought process along.  
  
"Graduate for one," Sam offered.  
  
"I don't think that will be an issue."  
  
"Hope not."  
  
"I don't mean in school, though. I mean for you...what do _you_ want to do?"  
  
"I..." Sam sighed, a strand of hair dancing before his eyes as he did. Gabe brushed it away. He hadn't thought about it at all, really. But the more he mulled it over, the more he began to surprise himself, and he smiled a bit, somewhat wistfully, and said, "I might have an idea...and you'll get a kick out of it, I'm sure."  
  
"Well now I definitely want to know. Lay it on me, kiddo."  
  
"I think...I think I might like to start writing again." Gabe's face did light up at that, just as Sam had expected it to do, if he was being honest. "I mean, I did a lot in high school. It was kind of my own sort of therapy, you know? But after a while I just sort of stopped...Haven't really written much besides essays and homework assignments for the last few years, but I don't know...it might be nice to get back into it."  
  
Gabe planted his hands on either side of Sam's face, staring down at him. "Well when you're a best-selling published author," he said with a grin, "I can sell your work in my shop! That's one of the perks of this relationship, you know. Makes up for the lack of a dental plan, anyway."  
  
"I don't know about best-selling," Sam chuckled. "I don't even know about published."  
  
"Well not if you have that attitude about it!" Gabe chided.  
  
"I guess you never know."  
  
"No, you don't. I bet you got a story or two in you, Sam. You could make the New York Times if you tried. You could be right up there with John Green!" Gabe closed his eyes and let out a breath, looking as if he was concocting some ornate fantasy in his mind. "Oh, Sam..." he breathed. "You know, I'd give my right arm to hear you read poetry."  
  
"What, seriously?" Sam scoffed. "I don't even think I have any of my old poems, not that there were a whole lot. And besides, I doubt they were all that good anyway."  
  
"I'm sure they were fantastic. You know, for the time. I can only imagine the stuff you'd turn out now, though." Gabe's thumb stroked against Sam's jaw, and Sam brought his hand up to hook his fingers around Gabe's thin wrist. "Wouldn't even have to be something you wrote. I'd just love to hear you read something, anything. Just hear it in your voice..." He looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then suddenly broke into a huge grin and pulled away. Sam's head fell back onto the mattress with a soft thump.  
  
"Hey!" Gabe ignored him, leaning over the edge of the bed to dig through his bedside drawer. Finally, he drew out an old battered book that Sam mistook at first for a Bible. Its cover was a deep green color, and its pages were worn and folded and marked in places. He could tell just at a glance that it was well loved.  
  
Gabe shoved the book into Sam's hands and sat back against the headboard, bouncing like an excited child as Sam hauled himself up and stared down at the book. "Seriously?" he asked.  
  
Gabe shrugged. "Humor me," he said. Sam sat back beside him and Gabe ran a lazy hand up Sam's side. "Seriously, Sam, I told you already that I'm a hopeless romantic. If you read poetry to me, I probably won't be able to keep my  hands off you." He grinned, and Sam glanced down at Gabe's hand, which was still wandering unhurried up and down his torso.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow. "You usually can't anyway." Gabe just gestured at the book, and Sam relented and opened it. "Anything in particular you want to hear?" he asked.  
  
"Just surprise me."  
  
"Frost?" Sam offered, and Gabe grimaced. "No Frost."  
  
"Surprise me with something other than Frost. I never did like the guy." Sam frowned at him. "Ooh...did I touch a nerve?"  
  
"It's fine," Sam assured him. He turned the page and found one he liked, clearing his throat dramatically as Gabe fidgeted beside him. Finally, be began to read:  
  
 _When first we met she seemed so white_  
 _I feared her;_  
 _As one might near a spirit bright_  
 _I neared her;_  
 _An angel pure from heaven above_  
 _I dreamed her,_  
 _And far too good for human love_  
 _I deemed her._  
 _A spirit free from mortal taint_  
 _I thought her,_  
 _And incense as unto a saint_  
 _I brought her._  
  
 _Well, incense burning did not seem_  
 _To please her,_  
 _And insolence I feared she’d deem_  
 _To squeeze her;_  
 _Nor did I dare for that same why_  
 _To kiss her,_  
 _Lest, shocked, she’d cause my eager eye_  
 _To miss her._  
 _I sickened thinking of some way_  
 _To win her,_  
 _When lo! she asked me, one fine day,_  
 _To dinner!_  
  
He smiled a bit at that, as did Gabe, warmly, and Gabe's fingers trailed up and down Sam's chest still, lazy and soft, as if they were moving of their own accord now instead of Gabe's; in fact, Gabe seemed to have forgotten them.  
  
 _Twas thus that made of common flesh_  
 _I found her,_  
 _And in a mortal lover’s mesh_  
 _I wound her._  
 _Embraces, kisses, loving looks_  
 _I gave her,_  
 _And buying bon-bons, flowers and books,_  
 _I save her;_  
 _For her few honest, human taints_  
 _I love her,_  
 _Nor would I change for all the saints_  
 _Above her_  
 _Those eyes, that little face, that so_  
 _Endear her,_  
 _And all the human joy I know_  
 _When near her;_  
 _And I am glad, when to my breast_  
 _I press her,_  
 _She’s just a woman, like the rest,_  
 _God bless her!_  
  
"Sam, you sentimental idiot," Gabe breathed, and Sam swore that he sounded near tears. When he glanced down at him Gabe's eyes were shimmering in the low light as Gabe pressed his nose to Sam's collarbone.  
  
"It seemed...fitting," Sam said as he wrapped an arm around him. Gabe pressed a kiss to Sam's chest.  
  
"I'd love to hear what you come up with yourself."  
  
"We'll see," Sam promised. Gabe folded his arms beneath him, resting them atop Sam's chest as he settled his chin on them. He said nothing, but smirked up at Sam, eyes half-lidded, and Sam found himself speaking again: "Gabe?"  
  
"Mm-hmm?" Gabe hummed. Sam's chest tightened, the words sticking there, heavy, demanding to be said, but also refusing to budge; they stubbornly insisted that he come and get them instead, by force. "Are you gonna say something cheesy?" Gabe asked, one eyebrow quirked, and Sam figured that yes, he probably was.  
  
"I just..."  
  
The chiming of his phone interrupted them, and the words settled down below his lungs, burning there. He sighed, muttered an apology instead and reached over for his phone on the bedside table. It was Dean, just as he'd presumed and he answered: "Yeah?"  
  
"Would it kill you to answer a text, dude?" Dean asked.  
  
"Yeah, sorry, I ah..." He glanced back at Gabe, who was fighting back a laugh. "I didn't have my phone on me. I know it's kinda late..."  
  
"Look whatever, Sam. You don't exactly have a curfew, you know? I figured you'd be at Gabe's again. I'm not uh...I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"  
  
Gabe snorted.  
  
"No! No, you're not." As he spoke, Gabe pressed another kiss to his chest, just above his left nipple, and then another, a little lower. Sam squirmed at the touch, trying half-heartedly to push Gabe away, but Gabe ignored him and merely continued his trek downward. "Look, I'll be better about the texts, okay. I'll be back in a bit."  
  
"Alright, good. Cause I got something I want to talk to you about when you get here."  
  
Gabe had reached his hips and was dragging his mouth over Sam's hipbones. His voice shook a bit when he asked, "About what?"  
  
"Nothing bad, if that's what you're thinking. Nobody's dead."  
  
Gabe's head dipped lower, and suddenly his lips were places Sam _really_ didn't want to have lips when he was talking to his brother. He lurched, biting back a groan and holding the receiver away from his mouth so that Dean - hopefully - wouldn't be able to hear his heavy breathing.  
  
"Fine," he clipped out. "I'll be back in a f-" He bit his lip, hard, for several moments before he was composed enough to say, "...few."  
  
"Dude."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you...oh God, I _am_  interrupting something, aren't I?"  
  
"No, you're-"  
  
"Look I'll talk to you later, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," Sam forced out, but Dean had already hung up. He tossed the phone back onto the bedside table with one shaking hand before glaring down at Gabe, who had backed off and was grinning up at him, looking far too proud of himself. "You're an ass, you know that?"  
  
"What? I like messing with your brother, and with you. It's how I show affection." He batted his eyelashes up at Sam before smirking and trailing a finger across Sam's hip. "'Sides, you blush so adorable when my lips are around your-"  
  
"Cockiness will get you nowhere, you know," Sam said, and Gabe grinned wide before crawling up the expanse of Sam's torso to press their mouths together.  
  
He slithered his way downward again, and Sam propped himself up on his elbows to watch him go. "I beg to differ," Gabe said.  
  
"Yeah, well I- _Ah..._ " Destination reached. Sam closed his eyes, let himself lean back against the pillows with a sigh. "Okay. Okay..."  


* * *

  
It was nearly ten by the time Sam got back to the apartment, and Dean sat up from the couch the moment he closed the door behind him. Dean had the phone pressed up against his ear and seemed to be in mid-conversation.  
  
"Yeah he just walked in the door now," he said into the receiver, glancing over at Sam. "Yeah I know, he's completely whipped."  
  
Sam pouted. Dean winked at him.  
  
"Okay yeah, I'll talk to him about it. Call you tomorrow. Sure. Talk to you then, Bobby. Night." He ended the call, and Sam arched his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"Bobby?" he asked. "Bobby Singer?"  
  
Dean smiled, wide and genuine. "Yeah, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."  
  
"What, Bobby? We haven't seen him in what?" He shrugged. "A few years? Not since I started school, anyway."  
  
"Yeah, which is why I figured we could get out to see him in the spring."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah!" Dean seemed as excited as a child on Christmas day, standing up and planting his hands on his hips. "I mean I said I'd talk to you about it too, you know? But we've been talking and we were thinking we could get out to Sioux Falls when you get off for Spring Break. He says he's got some big graduation gift to give you or something. And I got some vacation time saved up, so why the hell not?"  
  
He walked over to Sam and patted him on the arm. "I mean it's been way too long since we went on an honest-to-goodness road trip, just the two of us, don't you think? You, me, the highway, some good old fashioned junk food...What do you say?"  
  
Sam smiled. "Sounds fantastic," he said.  
  
"Thought you'd say that." Dean moved past him, filled a glass with water and downed it, licking his lips. "Anyway, how was your date, mister 'I-didn't-have-my-phone-on-me'?"  
  
"It wasn't a date. We were just...talking."  
  
"Sounded like you were doing a little bit more than talking," Dean teased.  
  
"Yeah, so what if we were?" challenged Sam, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Hey, I'm not judging," Dean assured him. He passed him again, giving him another strong pat on the shoulder as he went. "Might help you get the stick out of your ass anyway."  
  
"I don't have a stick in my ass." After a moment, as Dean rounded the corner, Sam called, "And I'm not whipped by the way!"  
  
Dean didn't reply; he just laughed loudly.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's eyes were watering and his nose wouldn't stop running as he searched through the cramped, dark storage closet tucked in the back corner of the store. To his right was a shelf of cleaning supplies, and an old broom leaning against the wall. Stacked nearby were several boxes of books in various states of quality: some were missing covers, others were badly stained, and still others were falling apart completely, their binding disintegrating and letting their pages fall away. One box in the back corner just seemed to be full of trash, crumpled papers and old magazines overflowing from its mouth.  
  
"How do you find anything in here?" he called over his shoulder, coughing and waving dust away from his face.  
  
Gabe shouted back: "It's not that big, sasquatch. Not like you're gonna get lost. Just put it anywhere." Sam shrugged and grabbed the box from just outside the door; it was piled to the brim with old Bibles - enough to make the Pope jealous, Gabe had said once - that had been sitting untouched in the back room of the store for nearly a year.  
  
"People don't come in here for religion," Gabe had told him earlier as he'd hoisted the box into Sam's arms and asked him to put it back in the storage closet until he could find something to do with them. "But it just kind of feels wrong to throw them away."  
  
Sam had found himself feeling the same. He'd never had any desire to sit in a pew or study the New Testament, but throwing away the leather bound, gold-leafed tomes just wouldn't have felt right. Maybe sticking them in a musty closet was no better, but he didn't dwell on it. He found a nice, unoccupied corner to stick them in and set the box down, but just as he was wiping his hands on his shirt, something else caught his eye.  
  
"Gabe?" he called.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What's this thing in here?"  
  
He heard Gabe shuffled vaguely toward the closet door. "What thing?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, pushing a large bit of styrofoam out of the way to get a better look and dragging it out. It was a huge hunk of wood, shaped and sanded and painted, but worn so badly that he could barely make out the lettering.  
  
"Tall Tales..." he muttered to himself. He turned around, and Gabe was leaning against the door frame. Gabe watched wordlessly as Sam dragged the object into the open. "What is this?" he repeated.  
  
Gabe let out a thoughtful half-chuckle before saying, "That's the old storefront sign. Used to hang above the door out there until a bad storm knocked it down a year or two ago." He shrugged. "Never bothered putting it back up."  
  
"So what's Tall Tales?" Sam asked.  
  
"That's the name of the store."  
  
"What, seriously?"  
  
"Yeah." He quirked an eyebrow at Sam and headed back toward the counter. "Didn't you know that?"  
  
"No..." Sam said with an odd sort of wonder. After all these months, how could he just now be discovering the name of the store in which he'd spent so much of his time? "Why don't you put it back up?"  
  
Gabe shrugged. "Laziness, mostly. Never bothered."  
  
"I could help," Sam found himself saying, and Gabe paused turning to face him again and leaning slowly back against the counter.  
  
"Could you, now?" he asked.  
  
"Well, Dean's pretty good with tools. I could get him to give me a hand."  
  
Gabe stared at him for a long time before finally grinning widely and letting out a warm chuckle. "Geez, kiddo...you know, you might be the best thing that's ever happened to this place."  
  
Sam dragged the sign out of the closet and leaned it against the counter, studying it intently. "It probably needs to be repainted."  
  
"Doesn't surprise me," said Gabe as he knelt down and ran a hand over the grain of the wood. "The thing took a battering, and it's been packed up in that closet ever since. Could really use some TLC." He brushed a thick layer of dust off of the surface and sat back on his haunches, his hands on his knees. "I'll go to the hardware store sometime this week, get some supplies. You wouldn't mind helping me with a little art project, would you sasquatch?" Gabe smiled at him, and Sam mirrored the expression.  
  
"Course not," he said, and he stood straighter when his memory kicked in again. "Oh, but it'll have to wait for a bit." Gabe wordlessly cocked an eyebrow at him. "Dean and I are going away next week. We're visiting a friend a few states away."  
  
"Well I'm not exactly in a hurry," Gabe told him. "After all, it's been sitting in a closet for months anyway. Actually, that makes me think..." He hoisted himself up, stretching his back and brushing the dust off of his hands. "Been meaning to ask you something, kiddo. Figure if you're gonna be away I might as well bring it up to give you time to mull it over."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"You know, this store...it's just been little old me running the show for a long time, and don't get me wrong, I don't mind it one bit. But you've been around here an awful long time, sasquatch, and I figured I could use the extra help. You know, officially." Sam blinked at him. "And I know, I know they say never mix work and romance, but what the hell? You can reach the tallest shelves like it's nothing. I'd be stupid not to keep you around."  
  
Sam began to grin. "Are you...offering me a job?"  
  
"Yeah," Gabe said with a nod. "With a paycheck and everything. I'll even let you set your own hours if you like."  
  
"I think I'd like that," Sam said, laughing lightly to himself. He went over to the storage closet and shut the door. "I mean, it's not like I'd be spending much more time here than I usually do anyway."  
  
"Is that a yes?" Gabe asked hopefully.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Gabe bounced excitedly, like a puppy with a new toy. "Fantastic! And your first official duty as my employee will be to help me with that sign when you get back from your trek out onto the open road. Sound like a plan, sasquatch?"  
  
After a moment, Sam nodded. "Sounds like a plan."  


* * *

  
"You packed yet?" Dean called through Sam's door.  
  
"Getting there."  
  
"Well hurry your ass up! We're leaving in an hour. I wanna beat traffic getting out of Lawrence."  
  
"Got it."  
  
Sam, of course, was packing his underwear into his suitcase when Dean unceremoniously opened the bedroom door and grinned at him, throwing something his way. Sam tried and failed to catch it, and it ended up hitting him in the chin on its way down onto the floor.  
  
"Don't forget your toothbrush," Dean said. Sam picked it up and waved it at him with a glare. Instead of leaving, however, Dean just leaned against the door frame with a contented sigh, watching Sam pack.  
  
"You packed already?" Sam asked.  
  
"Well I'm not nearly as high-maintenance as you are, so I was done half an hour ago."  
  
"I'm not high-maintenance."  
  
"Dude, you're _folding_ your underwear."  
  
"What, you don't?"  
  
"Why bother? Who cares if your tighty-whities are wrinkled?"  
  
" _I_ care," Sam barked.  
  
"Alright, alright," Dean relented, pushing off of the door frame and standing straight. "Fold your damn undies then. As long as you're packed in the next hour." He grinned. "Sure you can stand being away from your boyfriend for that long?"  
  
Sam chuckled at him, "I think I can handle it. It's just a week."  
  
"Yeah, okay. Look, I'm gonna start grabbing the food for the trip. Anything you want to make sure gets put in the back?"  
  
"I got some dried peaches the other day. Grab those."  
  
Dean grimaced at him. "Dried peaches?" he repeated mournfully.  
  
"Yeah, they're good."  
  
"You can't bring _fruit_ on a road trip, Sam. It goes against the storied traditions of our ancestors."  
  
"Fruit's good for you, Dean."  
  
"Whatever. I'll bring your damn peaches." He stalked toward the kitchen.  
  
"Throw some bananas in there too, would you?" Sam called after him.  
  
"I'm gonna eat this entire bag of pork rinds in front of you," Dean informed him from down the hall. "Just to spite you."  


* * *

  
Gabe was leaning on the Impala when Dean and Sam made it down the stairs, suitcases in hand.  
  
"Dude, get your ass off my car," were the first words out of Dean's mouth, and Gabe grinned.  
  
"Good to see you too," he said. He stood up off the car as he spoke, a small paper bag crinkling in his fist. "Just figured I'd come see you guys off. You know, wish you well."  
  
"Aww, see that, Sammy?" Dean crooned. "Your boyfriend's gonna miss you."  
  
"Shut up," Sam chastised. Gabe just laughed at them.  
  
"Actually," Gabe said, digging into the paper bag in his hands, "I brought you something for the road."  
  
"If it's naked pictures, I'm leaving you here," Dean warned his brother.  
  
"Oh relax, Dean-o. I already emailed those." Gabe winked, and Dean grimaced, grabbing Sam's suitcase and his own and going to put them in the trunk.  
  
Gabe approached Sam slowly, pulling something out of the brown bag and holding it behind his back. "Close your eyes," he said, and Sam did with a sigh. It was only a moment or two before Gabe shoved something plastic and lumpy against Sam's chest, and Sam took it and opened his eyes, smiling when he did; Gabe had handed him two bags of candy pumpkins, something he'd discovered Sam couldn't get enough of when he'd bought some around Halloween. Sam had gone through the entire bowl Gabe had had on the counter without even realizing it, and Gabe had made fun of him for it for days after.  
  
"Where did you even get these?" Sam asked. "It's spring. I thought they didn't sell these past November."  
  
"I have my ways, kiddo," Gabe said, waggling his eyebrows at him. "Come on, it's not that difficult to track down a few bags of candy."  
  
"Oh, I see how it is," said Dean when he'd closed the trunk. "With me it's all dried fruits and nuts, but with him you've suddenly got a sweet tooth. What are those things, anyway?" He reached for them, but Sam pulled them away. No way was Dean getting his hands on these candies.  
  
Gabe laughed. "Watch it, Dean. Don't want to get between a moose and his pumpkins, do you?"  
  
"Yeah well, come on _moose_. We've got a traffic rush to beat." Dean left them, sliding into the driver's seat of the Impala and turning the engine over. He turned up the music, and Sam had to admit he appreciated Dean's own personal way of giving them a little privacy, shoving his hands into his pockets as the heavy rhythm of Styx poured from the Impala.  
  
"I'll see you in a week, I guess," said Gabe. "Then we can get started on our art project."  
  
"Sounds perfect. You won't get bored without me, will you?"  
  
Gabe scoffed at him. "Nah! I think I can manage. But you'll uh...you'll have to make up for it when you get back, you know." He stepped forward, pressing his chest to Sam's and gazing up at him with his eyes half-lidded and a smirk on his face. Sam's hands found their way to Gabe's hips as he grinned.  
  
"I think I can manage that," he promised, and he rounded his back, leaning down to kiss Gabe on the lips.  
  
He was just pulling away when Dean started singing loudly - and rather off-key - along with _Renegade_ , and Sam took it as his cue to speed things up. He let his fingers brush over Gabe's shoulder as he went to the car, candy pumpkins still in hand.  
  
"See you in a week," he promised, and Gabe waved as they drove away.  


* * *

  
The plastic bag in Sam's hands rustled loudly as he dug his fingers in to grab another pumpkin. The first bag was halfway gone already, and they weren't even out of Lawrence yet.  
  
"Geez, dude," Dean scoffed. "Guess mister rabbit food has a sweet tooth after all."  
  
"I'm allowed one vice," Sam told him, popping a pumpkin into his mouth, biting it in half and letting it dissolve on his tongue.  
  
"Yeah, and that vice is _pumpkins_."  
  
Sam threw one at him. It landed in Dean's lap, and Dean plucked it off his jeans and ate it. "Huh...these aren't bad." He eyed Sam for a moment before reaching for another, but Sam yanked the bag away from him.  
  
"Mine," he said.  
  
"You're such a kid."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Am-"  
  
A truck sped through the red light, the only warning of the impending impact being the blinding flash of headlights and the blaring horn before it smashed into the passenger's side of the Impala. Metal twisted and distorted, glass shattering and flying in all directions, and when the car finally skidded to a halt, on its back on the hot asphalt, the world went eerily, terrifyingly silent.  
  
Candy pumpkins rolled across the intersection, tainted by oil and gasoline.


	11. Chapter 11

When Gabe had fallen from Grace, he had experienced pain the likes of which he'd never thought possible. It had not been the physical pain that had overwhelmed him - though there had been plenty of that too; it had been the pain of uncertainty, of doubt and fear that had crippled him, made him feel as if he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't go on living under the weight of it all. They had been human emotions, thrust upon an angel, and he hadn't had the time to learn them the way a human would have learned from birth.  
  
He had been tossed into the cold, unforgiving world of man, desperate, terrified, and alone.  
  
He had adjusted, and he had begun to hope - though it took much time - that the worst was over. He had hoped that someday, he would be able to do the work necessary to get back home. But that fear had clung to him like a parasite, feeding off of him and leaving him listless and empty, too fearful to step up and do what had needed to be done.  
  
And so, he had waited. His miracles had gone untouched, because to use them would have meant facing the unknown, and that was not something an angel was equipped to do.  
  
He felt every inch of those angelic shortcomings now, as he trudged through the halls of the hospital on legs that were so shaky it was a wonder he hadn't collapsed already. The tile was hard and sterile under his feet, and it was _noisy_ \- his ears rang with the sounds of doctors' orders and mechanical beeping and disembodied voices over the intercom; his mind buzzed with all the noise, and it made him dizzy.  
  
He reached the room and stopped, unable to push himself forward through the threshold and face what lay inside. He couldn't, because as long as he was out here, as long as he didn't see it for himself, he could still force himself to believe that what Dean had said over the phone - his voice shaking and cracking as he had - was a cruel dream or a cosmic prank.  
  
Accident.  
  
Coma.  
  
Critical.  
  
The words whizzed through his head like his skull was a hive of angry wasps, and he tried to swat them away because they were making him sway dangerously on his feet, but the door opened before him without warning. He looked up, and suddenly the words weren't just words anymore, but visions that he couldn't will away so easily.  
  
Dean was a sight; his arm was in a sling, wrapped in a cast up to the elbow, and his face was covered in cuts, one of which - on his forehead - was stitched up and angry-looking. His eyes were red, probably from a combination of sleep deprivation and tears, though Gabe knew Dean would never admit to the latter.  
  
"Jesus..." Gabe breathed, looking pointedly at Dean and not past him, because the figure that he could barely make out, lying in the bed in the corner of his vision, was not a reality he wanted to face yet, if at all. Dean stared at the floor, his expression twitching as if he were about to crumble.  
  
Dean didn't say a word, but stepped back to let Gabe in.  
  
Forward, now, he told himself, and his legs obeyed, albeit fighting him with every step.  
  
He didn't want to. God, he didn't want to, but Gabe entered, brushed past the curtain that obscured the bed, and his mouth went dry. He stood, motionless, in the center of the room, staring because he could do nothing more.  
  
"Guy ran the red light," Dean said somberly from behind as he strode over to the chair by Sam's bed and collapsed into it. He stared pointedly at his little brother, watched the mechanically-assisted rise and fall of his chest while Gabe tried to imagine that he would one day be able to forget the sight of Sam with a tube jammed down his throat. He couldn't see it ever happening.  
  
"Smashed right into us," Dean continued. "I didn't even see him coming...I got off with a busted arm, but Sammy..." Suddenly the elder Winchester broke, reaching out for Sam's hand and holding it in his own. He looked so old, as if all the weight of all the years he'd been forced to act mature beyond his years had finally started to bend his bones beneath it.  
  
And yet, he also looked so young, like a scared child whose brother was hurting and who didn't know how to fix it.  
  
His voice was rough and raspy as he said, "I've been here all night, up watchin' him. He won't wake up...I need him to wake up, but he won't..."  
  
Gabe swallowed back a lump in his throat, but his chest ached even more the longer he looked: Sam's hair was matted and tangled, his face was covered in cuts and bruises, and he was surrounded by a web of tubes and wires, monitoring his heartbeat and breath and blood pressure, keeping him breathing, feeding him chemicals to keep him from slipping away.  
  
"Dammit, kiddo..." Gabe breathed, but Dean didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he stared at his brother, his little brother, the one he'd raised and comforted when there was nobody else who could, whose spaghetti-O's he'd cooked when they got home from school, and he kept muttering a desperate mantra of  "Come on, wake up Sammy. You gotta wake up. Wake up, Sammy..."  
  
Gabe felt as if he'd fallen again.  


* * *

  
There was a chapel down the hall to the left. It was small and stuffy, and it was empty when Gabe hauled himself through the padded wooden double doors. He shuffled down the carpeted aisle, eyes fixed on the scuffed up tin cross on the altar at the front, multicolored light from the stained glass window shining on its surface, and he collapsed into one of the pews.  
  
He stared down at his hands and wondered if he could still remember how to pray.  
  
Should he kneel? Should he clasp his hands together? Should he prostrate himself before the cross and beg? He wondered about all these things and did none of them. Instead he stared up at the rafters and whispered, "Please."  
  
It was a simple word, a simple prayer, and one he doubted anyone heard. After all, who listened to the prayers of a fallen angel? Certainly not God.  
  
"Father...please," he said to the ceiling, "Please listen. I know you can hear me, but please...I need you to _listen_."  
  
He took a breath. "Sam doesn't deserve this...I'm the one being punished, not him, and not Dean." He leaned forward and pressed his palms against the aged wood of the pew in front of him, his shoulders rounding. "I don't know what you'd have me do...Please...tell me what to do..."  
  
Gabe rested his forehead on the backs of his hands, and he felt a sob rise up in his chest, but he pushed it down and away. He wouldn't cry, not now. Not in the presence of his Father. He had to be strong, had to show Him that he could be brave.  
  
Not unafraid, but brave.  
  
"I tried," he said. "I tried so hard...I tried to do the right thing, and when that didn't work, I tried to hide. I know this is a test, but can't you... Please, can't you...can't you help me? I need you to..."  
  
He closed his eyes and listened for something - _anything_  - that would point him in the right direction, guide him to the right path. It didn't need to be much, just the smallest whisper would do, but he couldn't handle the silence. It was going to crush him..  
  
It continued, on and on, more and more choking. And just when he thought he couldn't take the uncertainty any longer, he knew. There was no sound, no flash, no word, but he knew, like a creeping ache in his chest. And it had not come from God; that much was certain. The tug on his soul had come from within himself.  
  
"I'll do it," he said, and to whom he was speaking, he was no longer sure. "You know I'll do it...even if you won't tell me whether it's right, I know it is..." He nodded, suddenly more sure of himself than he had been in eons, and his heart was pounding in his chest.  
  
He stood, moved into the aisle and faced the cross, his posture hunched and tired. "There's no other way, is there?" he asked. There was hope in his words, and that surprised him the most: that somehow, some part of him still hoped that there was another way when he already knew it wasn't true.  
  
He turned from the cross, went to the doors, and as he stood in the doorway, he paused. He drew in a shaking breath and let it out again, suddenly wanting to look back.

He didn't.  


* * *

  
"Dean."  
  
Dean looked up at the sound of his name, looking haggard. It was starting to rain outside, fat drops falling against the window behind the blinds.  
  
"You look awful," Dean said exhaustedly.  
  
"Back atcha," Gabe replied, and where Dean might have laughed once, he merely looked away. "Have you slept at all?"  
  
Dean shrugged, turning to face his brother again. "Some. Off and on. I wanna be awake in case he..."  
  
Dean couldn't even bring himself to say it.  
  
"Wakes up?" Gabe offered. Dean nodded, but Gabe wondered if that had really been what he meant.  
  
Gabe went to him, knelt by the chair and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, saying, "Go home, Dean."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"I'll call you a taxi. Go home. Get some rest."  
  
"No, I _can’t_ ," Dean repeated. "Sammy needs me. Don't you get it? I've been protecting him all my life, always there when he needs me, and he needs me now. I'm not leaving."  
  
"But you're not doing him any good by running yourself ragged. You've been taking care of him all your life, you said it yourself. You need to take care of you." Dean glanced mournfully down at his casted arm and sighed. "Just go home for the night. Get a little rest. Come back first thing in the morning. I'll watch over him for now."  
  
Dean shook his head again, but a little more half-heartedly this time. Gabe thought it was from exhaustion more than anything else.  
  
"He'll wake up, Dean," Gabe said, and Dean finally looked up at him questioningly. "He will. He's stubborn."  
  
"He is," Dean agreed, and there was the smallest ghost of a wan smile on his lips.  
  
"So go home..." Gabe swallowed, trying to relieve his parched throat and fighting back a quaver in his voice as he said, "It'll be better tomorrow."  
  
Dean scoffed tiredly, and stood. "They always say that," he said.  
  
"Sometimes it's true."  
  
Dean stood beside the bed, looking down at Sam and letting his hand linger on his little brother's arm. "I'll be back tomorrow, Sammy," he promised thickly. A single tear spilled over his cheek, and he didn't bother to wipe it away even as it streaked across his skin and fell to the tiled floor. "You better not sleep in, you hear me?"  


* * *

  
Dean pulled on his coat as Gabe hung up on the taxi service.  
  
"Fifteen minutes," Gabe said.  
  
"Appreciate it."  
  
"Don't mention it, Dean-o." The usual nickname fell flat on his tongue and tasted bitter. Dean shifted awkwardly in the doorway and glanced at the clock.  
  
"I think visiting hours are almost over. They'll probably try and kick you out."  
  
"I think I can handle it, you know. I'll stay, don't worry. I have my ways." He actually smiled at that, though doing so tired him out even more, and Dean nodded. He reached out, planted a hand on Gabe's shoulder and squeezed, saying nothing more until he let it slip away.  
  
He left without another word, after casting one more long look back at Sam.  
  
For a long time, Gabe didn't move, but finally he let himself fall back into the chair by Sam's bedside, leaning forward, clasping his hands in his lap and gazing up Sam's unconscious form.  
  
"I always told you that you didn't deserve it," he said. "You definitely don't deserve this. I mean, come on, kiddo. You're not supposed to be here right now. You're supposed to be out on the road with your brother, eating junk food and singing badly to AC/DC. You were supposed to graduate in just a few weeks, for crying out loud, Sam. You were supposed to come help me repaint that sign, remember?" Tears welled in his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Oddly, he found himself laughing through his tears - a dry, hollow sound - as he said, "You were supposed to write me poetry."  
  
His smile faded incrementally with each mechanical breath of the ventilator.  
  
"Just wake up, would you?" he asked, reaching out for Sam's cold hand. "I just really need you to wake up...Come on, kiddo, I know you're a stubborn knucklehead, and I know you're fighting tooth and nail in there, so come on, just open those eyes. Come on..."  
  
He let out a strangled sob and then bit it back.  
  
His voice was soft, almost inaudible: "Sam, don't make me do this..."  
  
When he got no response, he stood, looking back over his shoulder before climbing onto the bed, careful to avoid the wires and tubes that were keeping Sam tethered to the world. He curled against Sam's side, pressed his nose against Sam's collarbone, and he breathed. His scent was different, tainted by gasoline and smoke and antiseptic, but underneath it all, Gabe could sense Sam, and it gave him hope that maybe this was worth it.  
  
"You're gonna be pissed at me," he said. "Guess I can live with that." He paused, looking up. Sam's eyes were so lightly closed, like he was merely napping and would wake up at any moment. Gabe waited for that moment. He waited and waited.  
  
He'd spent too much of his life waiting.  
  
He took Sam's hand again, keeping his eyes on Sam's face as he pressed closer. "Just...no matter what happens, sasquatch, I just want you to remember that I..." He drew in a breath. The words burned in his chest. "Well..." He smiled. "You already know."  
  
He drew his hands up, pressed one palm flat against Sam's chest and cupped Sam's cheek in the other, his thumb ghosting over a cut on his lip.  
  
"Stay safe out there, sasquatch."  
  
The world bled away to white.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam graduated with honors on the second Saturday in May. The weather was gorgeous, the ceremony was well-attended, and he managed not to trip on his robes on his way to collect his diploma. All in all, it couldn't have gone better, and afterwards, when all the graduates went to their families, Dean gave Sam a pat on the back that made him stagger.  
  
"How's it feel, mister Cum Laude?" he asked, grinning so widely Sam thought he might pull a muscle.  
  
He managed a smile. "Pretty good," he said. And it did. He looked down at the diploma in his hands. Of course, it wasn't the real thing; that would come in the mail later, but it felt amazing to know he'd earned it. "Pretty good," he said again, a bit softer this time.  
  
Dean's hand never left his brother's shoulder. "I knew you had it in you, Sammy." He turned away, coughing, and Sam smirked at him.  
  
"Dean...are you crying?"  
  
"No!" Dean scoffed. "Hell no! There's pollen everywhere." Sam just continued to smile at him, knowingly, mostly because he knew it would tick Dean off to no end. "Shut your pie hole." Sam managed a laugh, taking off his mortar board cap and running a hand through his hair. It was a warm day, and he was sweating under his robes. He couldn't wait to get out of them.  
  
Dean sobered a bit, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know, I gotta say this, Sammy. It's pretty much obligatory. But if Dad were here, or Mom...you know, they'd be proud as hell of you. And so am I. You know that, right Sammy? I'm so damn proud of you."  
  
"I know," Sam said, and he sighed, swallowing back a lump in his own throat. "Thanks. That means a lot. A hell of a lot."  
  
"Yeah, I know," said Dean, and the two of them fell silent. The elephant in the room - or elephant on the quad, rather - nudged at Sam insistently, and he could tell it was doing the same to Dean. "And I know not everyone you wanted here could be here today...Man, I wish they could. Wish he..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging unfinished in the air. Sam looked down at the grass.  
  
Though it seemed so cheesey now, Sam had pictured Gabe here cheering him on. There had been a time when he'd imaged taking his diploma and afterwards, after hugging his brother and shaking hands with his professors, grabbing Gabe and kissing him with everything he had. Hell, there had even been a handful of times when his fantasies had gotten away from him and he'd daydreamed about Gabe running up on stage and grabbing him in front of everybody, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone, even though part of him figured that for Gabe, maybe it wasn't so far-fetched.  
  
But of course, they were only fantasies now, and that was all they would ever be. Even the simplest of touches - a hug, a peck on the cheek, a brush of the hands - could only ever be real in his mind. Gabe was gone, and where he was, or even if he was still alive at all, Sam didn't know.  
  
"Yeah," Sam clipped out, all of the emotions tiring him out. All he wanted was to get out of these damn stifling robes.  
  
"Hey," Dean said, and when Sam looked up at him again, his big brother was back to grinning, although it looked forced and exhausting now. "How about we go to lunch somewhere. Anywhere you want. I'm buying for all three of us."  
  
Sam's eyebrows arched.  
  
"Three?" he asked. Dean's smile softened, becoming more natural, and he glanced over Sam's shoulder, gesturing for somebody to come over. Sam turned, and he gasped, suddenly breaking into a bigger grin than he'd have thought he would be capable of at all.  
  
"Jess!" he exclaimed, and the young woman before him smiled widely, laughing and throwing her arms around him, her feet sweeping up off the ground in the process and her white summer dress flaring out behind her.  
  
"Congratulations, Sam!" she said, and she cupped his face in her palm as she pulled back. "Oh God, it's so good to see you."  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
Jess nodded over at Dean. "Dean invited me. You didn't think I'd miss your graduation, Sam, did you? After everything you did to get here? Jesus, I'm so proud of you. I was crying all over the place!" Her eyes did look red, and she reached up to wipe at them again with the back of her hand.  
  
Sam looked back at Dean, who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat again. "I'll leave you two kids alone I guess," he said. "I think I see some ladies over there who could use a little company." He winked, and Sam followed his line of sight and grimaced.  
  
"Dean...that's my calculus professor."  
  
"She married?"  
  
"No, but she's gotta be at least forty."  
  
Dean shrugged. "Age is just a number, Sammy. I'll be back."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes as he turned back to Jess, but she was laughing. "How are you?" he finally asked.  
  
"Good," she said, and she tugged on the sleeve of his robe. "Come on, let's get out of the sun." She led him over to a shady tree away from the crowds and leaned against it. "You wanna take that thing off?" she asked with a giggle when she noticed him scratching at the thick folds of fabric draped over his body.  
  
"You have no idea," he said, and he pulled it over his head. It was an unbelievable relief to have that damn thing off, and he sighed. "What about you? I didn't miss your graduation, did I?"  
  
"No. I have another semester in my program. I get out in December. And I want you there, okay?" She poked him in the middle of his chest and grinned. "Consider this an official invitation."  
  
"Done," Sam said, and slowly, his smile began to fade. "Look, I've been a shitty friend...I'm sorry I haven't really-"  
  
"Hey don't worry about it, okay? God knows you've been busy with school and..." She sighed, considering her words carefully. "Dean...he told me about what happened...With the car accident and your boyfriend..." She reached out when Sam looked away, running her hand up his arm. "Sam...I'm really sorry."  
  
"Thanks," he said.  
  
"I know it's supposed to be a happy occasion and all, and maybe this is a downer, but...do you want to talk? We can...if you want."  
  
Sam shrugged. "Not a lot to talk about, really. I mean it's hard, not having him here. But it's hard every other day too. I miss him, but that's not the point. I don't even know where he is...or if he..." He stopped, his chest aching. He didn't look up at her, not because he was ashamed, but because he had a growing feeling that if he saw the sincere sorrow for him in her eyes, it would break him entirely. And he didn't want to break.  
  
"It must be hard," she said, her hand still not leaving his arm. She squeezed gently. "Not knowing." Sam nodded, closing his eyes shut tight to fight back the tears that were threatening to gather there, and he reached up to grasp her hand in his.  
  
He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed her until now. How could he have gone a whole year without even calling to say hello?  
  
"I just..." He took a breath. "I lost my mom before I really knew her...and then I lost my dad...and now I lost him..."  
  
"Well you still have Dean," Jess offered. She pressed her palm against Sam's cheek again, and he leaned into the touch. "And you still have me."  
  
"Thanks," he said. "Really...thank you."  
  
He sighed heavily, tears no longer a pressing threat, and he sat down at the base of the tree, watching the crowd slowly dissipate as former students went off to spend time with their family and friends. He couldn't see Dean in the crowd at the moment, and he wondered how he was faring with Professor Hawfield.  
  
"You know," Jess said as she sat down beside him and tucked her knees up tight against her chest, "I'd love for you to...tell me about him sometime. You know, when you're ready. He seems like a really amazing guy."  
  
"Yeah..." Sam agreed. He leaned back against the tree, the bark scratching against his scalp. "Honestly I'm pretty sure he saved my life, maybe more than once." He thought back to that night they'd first met, and to the night when he'd discovered Gabe hadn't been lying about the shotgun. To his surprise, he found himself laughing a bit. "Kinda like you did," he added.  
  
Jess looked genuinely surprised. "I never saved your life," she said.  
  
"Yeah you did," Sam corrected, furrowing his brow. "I thought you knew that. Haven't I told you that before?" Jess merely shook her head, and Sam looked up at the cloudless sky again, through the thick green leaves. "You did. I mean, you helped me when my dad died, when I was figuring everything out...Honestly, I don't think I'd be here today without you. You really didn't know that?"  
  
"No," she said. She leaned back as well, gazing up just as he was. "Wow..."  
  
The sound of boots on the grass made them both look up. "Okay, kids," Dean said. "Up and at 'em. Who's hungry?"  
  
"Any luck with the professor?" Sam asked with one eyebrow cocked as he stood up.  
  
Dean glared at him. "No. You said she _wasn't_ married, you dick."  
  
"I didn't know she was! Must have happened recently."  
  
"Yeah, well let's just get out of here before I see her again, okay?"  
  
They went to Victoria Bar and Grill for lunch. Dean swore that Sam had picked the most expensive restaurant this side of Lawrence on purpose, but he paid anyway.

* * *

  
" _Sam-_ "  
  
Sam woke up in a cold sweat, breathing like he'd just run a marathon. He blinked, brought a hand up to wipe the perspiration from his brow and tried to focus his eyes on the clock by his bed. It was just after two in the morning, and the room was almost eerily quiet, not even the sound of traffic rolling by on the street outside.  
  
His name, whispered and urgent, had sounded so real, like someone was kneeling beside him in the dark and calling out to him. But it had just been a dream. Just a dream...  
  
He put his head on the pillow again, falling back asleep quickly.  
  
" _Sam-_ "  
  
This time, he knew it wasn't just a dream when he bolted upright in bed. There was a tug low in his chest, something that he couldn't identify, and he threw the covers off and pulled on a T-shirt and tennis shoes. The apartment was dark, and Dean's snoring could be heard all throughout. Sam cast a cursory glance at the couch where Jess was still asleep, her breathing deep and rhythmic.  
  
He grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

* * *

  
Sam's '71 Chevrolet Chevelle - a graduation gift from Bobby, who'd restored and repainted it himself - pulled up to the curb seemingly of its own volition, and Sam felt as though he was in some kind of odd half-trance as he got out and approached the familiar store. It was dark and empty now, its windows dirty and scuffed. Sam searched his keychain, finding the old key that Gabe had given him months before, and he wondered if it would still work.  
  
He inserted it into the lock, and lo and behold, it did.  
  
He stepped inside and was suddenly overcome by the dry air and dust, and he coughed. The shelves were empty, layered with dust, and the counter was bare. The posters that had lined the walls were gone; the memorable quotes that had been pasted to the front of the counter had been ripped away; the curtain that had separated the back room from the rest of the store was hanging on by just two rings at the top. It made Sam so deeply sad, as if he were gazing at the corpse of some old friend, that he almost turned back right on the spot, but something drew him forward, into the store, until he was standing right in the center.  
  
The door slammed shut.  
  
He whirled around with a gasp, and there he was, staring at him with wide eyes a shy smile, looking just the same as he had the last time Sam had seen him.  
  
"Gabe..." Sam breathed.  
  
"Hey kiddo."  
  
"You're..." He tried to take a step forward, but something stopped him. "This...I'm dreaming. This is a dream, isn't it?"  
  
Gabe shook his head. "It's not a dream."  
  
"But it has to be. I mean you're...you're here. You can't be here. You're..."  
  
"What?" Gabe asked, cocking his head to one side. "Dead? Sam, do you know me at all? I'm way too stubborn to die."  
  
Sam's formed his mouth into a hard line, squaring his shoulders. "You did it, didn't you?" he asked. "You used your last miracle on me."  
  
Gabe nodded.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Did you think I was just going to let you die, sasquatch? Dean needed you. You needed to live your life. What kind of angel would I be...what kind of _person_ would I be if I just let you die? How could you expect me to do that?"  
  
Sam's shoulders slumped. "You promised me you wouldn't..."  
  
"You didn't deserve to die, Sam-"  
  
"And I didn't deserve to think you had!" Sam's voice echoed through the empty, abandoned bookstore, and the silence that followed was heavy. His words were softer, more ragged when he continued: "I thought you were dead, Gabe...I thought I'd never see you again."  
  
"But I didn't die," Gabe said, gently, soothingly. A car rolled by outside, and when the glow from its headlights cut through the shop, Sam nearly stopped breathing altogether because two massive shadows were cast behind Gabe, like wings stretching out behind him. Gabe smiled warmly. "It was enough, Sam. I earned my way back home."  
  
"So why are you here?"  
  
Gabe's laugh was a breathy sound of exasperated disbelief. "Why do you think?" he asked. His gaze softened, and he took a step forward. Sam found himself unable to move, but Gabe advanced until they were nearly chest to chest, and he stared down at the floor boards.  
  
"Heaven..." he said, almost inaudibly. "It's my home...It's where I was born, raised...Of course I was happy to be back, but it wasn't...." He sighed. "There was something missing."  
  
"What?" Sam rasped.  
  
Finally, Gabe looked up at him, smiling crookedly. "You really have to ask?"  
  
Slowly, Sam reached out, putting a hand on Gabe's arm, not ready to believe this was real yet. He was _hot_ under his touch, almost searingly so, but the fabric of his shirt was familiar, as was the flesh moving beneath it.  
  
"I have something for you, sasquatch," Gabe said. "If you want it."  
  
"Something...for me?"  
  
Gabe nodded, and he brought his hands to his chest. "I'll only give it to you," he said. "Not to anyone else." He closed his eyes, and he cried out suddenly, screwing them shut. Sam reached out, but Gabe pushed him away.  
  
"It's okay," he assured him through gritted teeth. "It's okay, Sam..."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Gabe didn't answer, but he pressed his hands tighter and tighter against his chest, as if he were trying to reach inside and pull out his own heart. Slowly, something began to glow between his fingers as he breathed raggedly. Clearly, he was in pain - agony, even - but he pressed on until he drew something from his chest, the glowing concentrating into a single point that he held tenderly in his palms.  
  
He shook slightly as he looked back up at Sam, and he smiled again through the pain.  
  
"What...what is that?" Sam asked, his voice nearly gone entirely from shock and wonder.  
  
"It's my Grace, Sam," said Gabe. "It's my life. Everything that makes me an angel...right here." His smile widened, the glow from the shining object in his hands making his amber eyes sparkle. "Take it."  
  
" _What?_ "  
  
Gabe pressed it toward him. "I told you...this is my life. It's me, kiddo. It's what ties me to Heaven, and I want you to take it."  
  
"What will happen to you?" Sam asked. He couldn't pull his gaze away from it; the feeling settled in his gut that this was a display of trust beyond words.  
  
Gabe let out a breathy laugh, and said what Sam had honestly been expecting, though he didn't know how: "I'll be human." Sam merely stared. "Don't you see what I'm doing, sasquatch? I'm literally giving myself to you, in every sense of the phrase. If you want me..." He pressed his glowing hands towards Sam's chest, offering up the object cradled within them. "...take me."  
  
Sam found himself reaching out, cupping his palms beneath Gabe's and letting Gabe drop the glowing object into his hands. It pulsed and quivered, and though Sam expected it to burn, it didn't. It was pleasantly warm, like a tiny bird, and though he had no idea how he could tell, it almost seemed to _know_ him, like it recognized him and nuzzled against his skin affectionately.  
  
Suddenly it gleamed so brightly that Sam had to close his eyes, and it shattered into a million pieces, all of which shot off in different directions. All but one flew out of the store, out of sight, and the last remaining piece buried itself in Sam's chest. There was no pain, but he gasped as he felt it passing through flesh and bone, leaving no trace or injury in its wake. He was aware of it only for a moment within his body - within his _soul_  - before it faded into his subconscious, and Gabe collapsed in his arms.  
  
Sam caught him, sinking to his knees on the floor. "Gabe? _Gabe?_ " he called, holding him close. Slowly, Gabe's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled.  
  
"So this is what it feels like," he mused. "Being human. Entirely human."  
  
"How do you feel?" Sam asked, beginning to smile himself. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn't remember shedding them, and he didn't pay them any mind.  
  
Gabe thought a moment before saying, " _Hungry_."  
  
Sam laughed, loud and hearty, and he wrapped his arms around Gabe, feeling him down the same to him as he buried his nose in the crook of Gabe's neck. A sob escaped him, mixing with a laugh, and suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling anymore. "Don't ever do that to me again," he said into Gabe's skin.  
  
"What?" Gabe asked. "The disappearing to Heaven part or the pulling out my own Grace to stay on Earth part?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Somehow I don't think that'll be an issue."  
  
Here they were, in a heap on the floor of Gabe's old bookstore, Sam unable to stop crying for some damn reason and wondering absently if anyone else had seen the supernova go off inside the shop and called the police. Whatever the case, he didn't want to get up just yet; he was perfectly content to hold and be held.  
  
"I really want to say something cheesy right about now," Gabe said.  
  
"Given the situation, I think you're entitled."  
  
Gabe chuckled and held him tighter. "Alright then." He pulled back, looked Sam in the eye. "I love you so damn much, kiddo."  
  
Sam smiled. "I already knew that."  
  
"That's not how the line goes."  
  
"Says who?" Sam asked, and unable to resist any longer, he cupped Gabe's jaw in his palms and pulled him in for a kiss, and when he broke it, he rested his forehead against Gabe's and said, "Maybe I'll just have to write my own."


	13. Epilogue

**Fourteen months later.**  
  
"Okay, coming through, move aside!"  
  
Sam staggered down the sidewalk with Gabe's hands over his eyes, trying to concentrate on not falling over thanks to the odd angle of his spine as he went. Gabe's yelling wasn't exactly making it easy, but it made him chuckle none the less.  
  
"What is it you want to show me, again?" he asked.  
  
"You'll see when we get there. Keep going. Keep going...aaaand stop!" Sam did. "Now, don't open your eyes yet, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
Gabe's hands slipped from his face, but Sam obeyed and didn't open his eyes until Gabe exclaimed, "Okay, now!"  
  
He opened them, and smiled hugely.  
  
Gabe was posed extravagantly next to a new display in the shop window of Tall Tales, his arms thrust out before him, framing the shelf that housed the newest shipment of books to arrive: _Miracle Street_ , a novel by Sam Winchester.  
  
"You like?" Gabe asked, waggling his eyebrows.  
  
"You've gotta be kidding me."  
  
"I never kid about literature, sasquatch." He ran over and slipped behind Sam, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist and pressing his chin between Sam's shoulder blades. "I told you that you'd get published if you tried. New York Times, here we come. John Green better watch his ass."  
  
The familiar purr of the Impala's engine made them both turn, and the car - which Dean and Bobby had worked on tirelessly to restore to her former glory - rolled up to the curb. Dean stepped out and smirked.  
  
"More books?" he teased, tucking his hands in his pockets and striding toward them. "Didn't you have enough already?"  
  
"Can never have enough books, Dean-o," Gabe said, stepping through the open doors and flipping the sign to 'Open.'  
  
It had taken months for Dean to trust Gabe again after he'd returned. Of course, Sam had never told him the whole truth, and maybe he never would. At first Sam had felt guilty for lying to his brother, but over time, he'd come to believe that perhaps it was for the best. In the end, he and Gabe had come up with a story about a family crisis and an insane sister who had prevented Gabe from having any sort of contact. Dean was not gullible by any stretch of the imagination, but he seemed to accept it relatively easily; maybe it just didn't take that much of a stretch of the imagination for him to believe some people had serious family issues.  
  
Still, Dean was nothing if not protective of his little brother, and it had taken a long time for him to forgive Gabe for leaving the way he had, regardless of the reason. Gabe had understood, and he had been patient; he and Sam had both known that Dean would come around on his own time, and true to form, he had. They didn't talk much about what had happened, but there was a silent understanding that all was forgiven.  
  
"So this is what you do with an engineering degree, huh?" Dean asked, clapping Sam firmly on the shoulder as the two of them admired the window display. "Write novels, is that it?"  
  
"Hey, I am a perfectly respectable employer!" Gabe reminded him as he poked his head around the door frame.  
  
"Yeah well let me tell you I wouldn't be nearly as happy living with my boss. Anyway..." Dean drew a pen out of his pocket and handed it to Sam. "How about a signature from the author, huh?"  
  
"You want me to do a private book signing?" Sam chuckled. "I don't know, Dean. I don't do that for just anyone."  
  
Dean shoved him as he went into the shop to grab one of the books and read the back cover. "Don't let it all go to your head, Sammy," he said, and he pushed the book into Sam's arms.  
  
"You better pay for that, you know," Gabe said.  
  
"What, don't I get a family discount?"  
  
"I only do that for the family that doesn’t annoy the hell outta me."  
  
"That's an oxymoron."  
  
" _You’re_ an oxymoron."  
  
"That's not what oxymoron means, numbskull."  
  
"Oh like you know what it means, dipshit."  
  
Sam smiled, leaning against the counter and watching them bicker. It was ten times more entertaining than any sitcom.  
  
"You gonna sign that or what?" Dean prompted.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, don't rush me," Sam said. "I gotta think of something deep and meaningful."  
  
"Just your name is fine. I'm just gonna wait until you're famous and then sell it for a profit." Sam sent an amiable glare his way as Gabe went to the computer and put on some music.  
  
"This calls for some celebratory tunes. How does Florence and the Machine sound?"  
  
Dean grimaced. "Florence and the Machine? Really? Why don't you play some good music? Like Metallica. Or Styx."  
  
"Insult Florence and the Machine and you can get the hell out of my store."  
  
Entertaining as ever, Sam thought, and while they were busy, he opened the book on the counter. It still didn't feel real, holding a real bound copy of a book he'd written. He'd thought nobody would want to touch it, a novel about an angel who fell for a human and sacrificed himself to save his love, but apparently publishers ate this sort of stuff up, and now here he was.  
  
Of course, the angel didn't die in the end. Sam was a sucker for happy endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for reading. I've come to love this verse and will likely do a few more things with it in the future. But for now, thank you to everybody who cheered me on and made it awesome. :)
> 
> SOUNDTRACK:  
> Unthought Known - Pearl Jam  
> I Need A Miracle - Third Day  
> It's Time - Imagine Dragons  
> 2 Atoms In A Molecule - Jonah And The Whale  
> Sweet - Dave Matthews Band  
> Inevitable - Scissor Sisters  
> Waiting On An Angel - Ben Harper  
> Hallelujah - The Canadian Tenors  
> All This And Heaven Too - Florence + The Machine  
> You And I - Ingrid Michaelson  
> Chicago - Sufjan Stevens


End file.
